


Morning Song (Beneath these clothes I'm wearing see-through pyjamas)

by sapphyr_raven



Category: Glee
Genre: Blood, Brain Damage, Brain Surgery, Depression, Dom/sub, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hospitals, Illnesses, Infidelity, M/M, Needles, Nosebleed, Pain, Sick Blaine, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Threats of Violence, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 88,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyr_raven/pseuds/sapphyr_raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong with Blaine.  He's going backwards and forwards in time.  Things keep changing and he's not sure why.  He's seeing things - things that he's not sure are real.  Or is he the one that's not real?</p><p>She's just trying to get through her day-to-day existence, to get through her Depression - to beat it, but she keeps losing time and seeing Him...  He's her way of coping - or is she his?</p><p>----</p><p>This fic is canon up to the end of Season 4 - however it goes backwards and forwards through time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness...

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from 'Somebody That I Used to Know' – Gotye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prologue added.
> 
> Chapter titles from 'Six Degrees of Separation' by The Script and 'Somebody That I Used To Know' by Gotye

**Prologue:  First, you think the worst is a broken heart - what's gonna kill you is the second part, and the third, is when your world splits down the middle.  And fourth, you're gonna think that you fixed yourself, fifth, you see them out with someone else, and the sixth, is when you admit that you may have fucked up a little**

               

He’s nervous.  He’s never been so nervous.  Not when he’s been on the stage in front of hundreds.  Not when he’d come out to his parents.  His palms are sweating and he struggles to keep his heart rate and breathing normal.  He runs a finger over the lip of the small box he holds behind his back, feeling the texture of it, feeling the meaning behind it.  He swallows – his mouth has gone dry.  Surely everyone must be able to hear his heartbeat right now?  He risks a glance at the man standing by his side and he knows.  He knows that what he is doing is right and wrong and too soon and perfect.  He knows.  He’s too warm and there is not enough air and his mind is busily trying to keep the nagging doubt at bay – to keep Sam’s doubt and Burt’s doubt and Tina’s doubt and his own doubt away.  He needs to do this.  He remembers to breathe and holds the box tighter as if it would also keep him together. 

                _Now._

He steps forwards.

 

 

                It’s a normal day when she gets called into work – the program she’s designed is due to run.  It’s a first for the company –

 _…If it works_ …

That familiar voice nags at her.  Mocking. 

                ... _What if you mess it up again?_ …

                _Then we’d be no worse off than before._

_…But we would be…_

_How?_

_…You’ve introduced hope…_

She shakes off the dark thoughts and swipes into the site and makes for the office.  She’s handed a folder – it is ordinary looking, no different from any other she had seen.  But this one, this one is special. 

                _This time it will work.  This time it has to._

There’s too much riding on this.  The company has invested too much money in this –

                … _too much faith in you…_

For it to go wrong.  She takes a breath and opens her laptop.  She notices her hands are shaking.

                _It will work.  You’ve checked it hundreds of times._

_…what about the hundred and first?  Or two hundredth?..._

She logs in and hovers her mouse over the .exe file which will determine her fate.  She closes her eyes and double clicks.

 

**Chapter 1:** **You can get adicted to a certain kind of sadness...**

 

Almost effortlessly reasons for not going in surfaced as the fragments of the beginnings of dark dreams dissipated as quickly as they had begun to appear. 

 _I don’t feel particularly well today.  I have my laptop.  I could easily work from home.  I have no real reason to go in.  I’ve not got any meetings today._ _I could probably concentrate better here – it is quieter._  

Lifting a sleep-heavy arm to silence the persistent alarm on her phone, she swore under her breath. 

‘Fuck’s sake.’ 

The rain and wind had done their best to hammer their way through her windows in the early hours and so, yet again, she had had less sleep than she ~~would have liked~~ needed.  Rising gently in an attempt not to disturb her sleeping husband more than the brief alarm already had, she made her way from the bedroom into the hallway by the light of her phone.  Closing the bedroom door behind her quickly to prevent the waiting rumbling mass of ginger tomcat and tiny frantic chocolate kitten from slipping past her, she made her way to the bathroom. 

_I should go in because…_

Routine. 

_…I’ve had too much time off already.  I only get 50% sick pay and I can’t use holiday so last minute.  I don’t want a reputation as being sickly.  Got to make a good impression…_

Clockwork.

_…So much to do.  So many projects - and two more added yesterday.  I’m so tired._

From the bathroom to the spare room to change, avoiding the purring ginger trip-hazard, then down the stairs, negotiating around the kitten, and the ancient, senile black and white tom at the foot of the stairs.  She changes the cat litter, feeds them (kitten separately due to her sensitive digestion), then begins to make her own lunch (turning off the second _Time for work!_ alarm mid-way through).  Grabbing her coat from its place underneath her husband’s on the banister, then keys and handbag, she begins the hunt for her shoes.  Finding the pair she wanted in the cupboard, she then unlocks and opens the front door, and begins her now daily attempt to convince the giant ginger escapee to re-enter house as ‘outside is dark and scary’.  With the cat back inside she closes and re-locks the front door, gets into her car and begins the drive through the darkness. 

            But driving time is thinking time.  Struggling to stay awake.  To focus. 

 _Did it always used to be this dark at this time of year?  I don’t recall.  Maybe it always has been.  It used to be colder, I think._  

Traffic lights, faceless roads. 

 _This could be any road anywhere it is so dark._  

Slowing for a roundabout.  A car joins the road behind her.  Tailgating. 

 _Can’t you see I’ve got a tiny, tiny engined car?  I can’t accelerate faster than this.  Pillock.  I hate people._  

Touching the brakes to get him to back off. 

 _Back off you dick.  I’m already doing the speed limit._  

He puts his high beams on. 

_You utter wanker._

He overtakes and is gone, but stays with her for the rest of the journey.  Dwelling.  Replaying.  Rationalising.  A memory of a past incident flickers, interjecting:

            The road is dark and it has been a long day.  Too long.  The usual road is closed:  **Road works.**   **Sorry for the inconvenience.**

 _No you’re not_. 

The lane is narrow and the hill is steep and even in 3rd gear the car struggles and loses velocity.  Headlights behind.  Back up to the legal limit.  It is so dark and road is unfamiliar.  Pushing it out of her comfort zone because the car behind is now on her tail.  They flash their lights. 

 _What does he want me to do?  It’s a lane – nowhere to pull over. Is there something wrong with my car?_  

They flash again. 

_What?!_

And again. 

 _Piss off, dick._  

Then overtake – they obviously know the road.  Alternately they have a death-wish.  Stress and frustration result in a hand gesture that, in hindsight, was not really warranted but made her feel better at the time. 

 _Wanker_. 

A mutter under her breath.  She flashes her lights at the white car which is now in front.  It slows. 

 _Shit_. 

It moves over to the oncoming lane and pulls alongside her.  She slows. 

 _Shit shit shit_. 

She stares straight ahead avoiding eye contact with the lads in the car.  They pull off again.  She flashes them. 

_Dickheads._

They stop their car.  She stops hers. 

 _Why did I do that?  Stupid stupid stupid.  I’m going to die._  

The car’s reverse light comes on. 

 _What the hell do I do now?_  

Two cars stopped in the middle of a country lane in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.  Panic tickles her throat.  A voice sings:

_Stuck in the middle with you…_

The white Honda begins to reverse. 

 _What if they get out?  There’s just one of me.  At least 2 of them…._  

Every horror scenario plays out in her head fast-forward.  But time is in slow motion.  Then - headlights from around the corner.  Another vehicle.  The white car takes off.  She, shaking, starts off again down the road.  Her toes are blocks of ice.  By the time she turns the corner there is no sight of the white car.  She’s paranoid they are around the corner waiting for her the whole way home.

            Back to the present and too much time has passed.  She doesn’t recall the last couple of miles. 

 _Shit.  Focus._  

A command not a request.  Mentally screwing the memory up as if it were nothing by words on a piece of scrap paper, she tosses it aside.  The road melts into the darkness.  She tries to still her mind. 

 _I could still turn around.  No one will be there yet so it won’t matter.  I can log-in from home._  

Work looms ahead out of the sickly sodium glow of Coventry.  Progressing over speed bumps she wonders whether her car’s suspension is still OK. 

_Did it make that noise yesterday?_

Negotiating into a space she parks and begins the long walk across the flat, open site.  The wind whips her and makes it impossible to use her umbrella.  She fumbles for her pass-card and enters.  The wind does its best to knock her over or pass through her. 

_Lazy wind._

She reaches her building and swipes entry. 

 _I’ll stay until lunch then I’ll go home.  Better to show my face._  

Painfully conscious of the noise she makes as she crosses the suspended office floor she reaches her desk - no, not her desk - this is only temporary.  There are few people in at this time.  Not one acknowledges her presence.

Ritual: bag on chair, remove coat, place lunch in drawers, breakfast biscuits on desk, retrieve laptop and start it up, grab French press, bean tin and grinder and walk to the small kitchen to make coffee.  Today however, it is tea in the French press – lapsung soochong.  Smokey.  It reminds her of the afternoon tea her husband shared with her in last November, just after they married.  They’d used the voucher her brother had bought them the Christmas before.  It had sounded interesting so she’d tried it.  Her mind’s eye smiles –

 _Lapsung sutra_ …. 

The smell takes her back for a moment.  She savours moments.  Lives for them. 

 _How long before it reminds me only of this place?_  

The laptop is waiting for her to log-in so she acquiesces and time trickles away as she submerses herself in the cold light of the monitor; unpicking tangled code and submerged in the cold language of machines.


	2. I will never know the way it feels to be just anyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Welcome to the Ball' – Rufus Wainwright

            Sometimes she is a man - she slips into his skin.  In many ways it fits better than her own.  She has, after all, worn it for years and it never really changes, where as she has changed in so many ways.  She knows it probably has changed really, but only in appearance, and so gradually it is almost indistinct. 

He is ever youthful – an amalgam of characters from television series and films she has immersed herself in.  Attempted to loose herself in.   Chameleonic and evolving as naturally as breathing as she’s gown older and her escapism obsessions have migrated, meandered, matured.  He is confident, attractive and best of all Free.  A leader.  Always a leader.  Someone who commands and receives attention.

She seems to remember it beginning when she was small with ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ and ‘Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers’.  She would be Leonardo, or Jason the Red Ranger, she can no longer remember which was first.  She took him on at night when the shouting was loudest – she would become him, and have adventures and would no longer be in that pink bedroom squinting at the crack of light that peered between the white gloss frame and the white gloss door.  Squinting until the light became a bright enveloping shaft reaching out to her.  Bathing her.  In that light she first became him.

When she eventually fell into slumber she wouldn’t notice and the play would continue until she woke in the morning.  She lived for those night time adventures.  Sometimes they spilled into the day when playing with neighbours.  She was always good at orchestrating adventures and they would follow and join in, taking ‘her’ lead.  But time does not stand still and play is supposed to be left behind.  Neighbours wanted to talk boys or clothes or music -

            ‘Peaches come in cans they were put there by a man!’

\- and no longer held truck with a girl who played a boy.  So privately she tried on Peter Pan and Pinocchio – kidnappings and imprisonments.  No one rescued him.  He grew darker and brooding. 

Her teenage years adopted Chakotay from ‘Star Trek: Voyager’, then Angel from ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’.  She dimly recalls flings and experiments with others, but she remembers those adolescent years better.  Between Chakotay and Angel they began to explore the sexual, evolving as she matured and filtering into her dreams.  She always enjoyed the dreams that continued her stories the best.  By now, the stories were complex involving whole worlds and had been going for years.  She lived an entirely different life at night – a life where she was _somebody_.

For a while she tried on Squall from ‘Final Fantasy VIII’ – it was her first real foray into gaming – the Role Play Game (RPG) was like an interactive film.  But it soon was not enough.  Plot lines in TV and films were becoming predictable.  Unsatisfying.  She started to write.  Seemingly overnight she understood how to write ‘creative’ poetry.  How to get good marks in English Literature at school.  She wrote obsessively.  Plays, poetry, novels, lyrics.  A new way to escape.  A new way to play.  An _accepted_ way to play.  The first poem was published.  Something had started.

Whilst at university, she played with Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy, and Crichton from ‘Farscape’, but it was Legolas from Peter Jackson’s ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy, that became ~~the latest~~ more consistently sampled.  The character at night is now almost 9 years removed from the adoption; he is no longer truly recognisable.  He is an amalgam of all of the previous incarnations.  Dark hair, dark eyes - so deep they are almost black, lean and muscular. 

In truth the character underneath is always the same – her chimera personality perhaps, but the base determines the dreamscape – the background, the setting, the other characters.  It provides another doorway into that world of escapism – beyond immersing herself in the episodes, films, and reading the books.  Others’ words.  Others’ worlds.

            She experimented once with a splitting of herself.  She tried having a twin – likely born through playing another RPG; ‘Vampire: Bloodlines’ – a darker, sexier twin.  In homage to LOTR she used her names in an ‘Elvish’ name generator and adopted Artanis and Aranel.  Silmarwen Celebrindal (her real self) became side lined.  Artanis was light, honest, childish and innocent – utterly human.  Aranel darkly adult, fun, cruel and dangerously attractive – flickering between Malkavian and Ventrue.  She began to experiment with the girls during the day trying them on like masks.  One day she would be Artanis, another Aranel.  She’d tried this whilst at secondary school but had never named them and it had never been so utterly polar before.  Hating herself; every new term she had tried to re-invent herself.  She no longer remembers really why.  It seemed necessary.  Perhaps she was searching for herself.  Perhaps she was lonely and wanted friends.  The flaw in the theory is that people do not see a different person.  Once they ‘know’ you – you are a closed case.  Attempting to change this further alienates so it had never lasted and she had always become the base ‘her’ again.  This time, at university, she became Artanis or Aranel depending on her mood.  She used it to her advantage or detriment.  Aranel played with boys (and girls) and some got attached and Artanis was ill-equipped to deal with the fallout.  Aranel loved the attention while it lasted and   Artanis, easily hurt and prone to moping - incapable of dealing with confrontation.  Aranel would never mope.  Aranel did not hide.

Artanis and ‘Legolas’ began a night relationship which compensated for her real relationships crumbling through distance, loneliness and resulting self-sabotage.  She became quiet and wrapped herself in Artanis and Aranel.  Detaching from real people she began to invest in, and long for, the night relationship.  She would flicker between Artanis and ‘Legolas’ and as such the story took new direction and added complexity.  But something was lacking. 

In 2005, desperate to feel attractive, yet utterly lonely, and deep and drowning in the sway of the latest all-encompassing darkness, she trawled the newly launched MySpace for her long term on-again-off-again (then off) ex.  There were two candidates.  She had friended both.  This seemingly unremarkable event led to her entire world changing.  He would be the first person to hear her, see her, and listen.

For a while after they moved in together in 2007, the night adventures became less frequent and almost stopped altogether.  Until something happened just after they married in 2012 that made her return to them with force.  Legolas and Artanis, both waiting in the wings and glimpsed on nights when sleep evaded her, suddenly flickered solidly into Blaine from Glee.  Resonating.  Pulsating.  Alive.


	3. I don’t really want to be me no more…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Something to Be' – Rob Thomas

**_February 2013_ **

_The buildings are grey, the walls are grey, the desks are grey, the PC is grey, the sky is grey..._   _At least they are different shades of grey_ … _Mostly._  

Her eyes wandered outside searching for interest whilst her PC worked to compile and run her latest code.  A bird; a black spec against the quilted cloud cover, flickered into her field of vision then departed as freely. 

Blaine had been nudging her mind whilst she was at work recently - that was actually quite confusing for him.  There was a meta-state where he was-but-wasn’t all at once.  It would be ‘normal’ for a minute, he’d be getting on with his life, usually thinking about Kurt, then he’d realise he had a woman’s body and was wearing heels and he would vanish again and she’d be back.  The visits were getting longer however.  It was like he was coming to accept that state where he could think in relative peace away from the others at McKinley.  Away from the complexities of his usual life.

He frowned as his thoughts snapped back.  He was certain that time had jumped. 

_Was it light a moment ago?  I could have sworn it was dark…_

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.  He had been recalling the last time he saw Kurt – at Will and Emma’s almost wedding.  It has been like slipping back into a bespoke suit.  Every touch, every movement, every kiss a finely choreographed dance.  He smiled softly to himself.  He would win Kurt back.  It was only a matter of time now.  His subconscious, always trying to protect him, tried to prepare him for the worst:

…but Kurt was so quick to keep reiterating that you’re ‘just friends’…

Images flickered in his memory like a slideshow – the backseat of the Prius, after their duet, talking to Tina in the hall at school the day after.  Each time Kurt had been sure to remind him that they were ‘just friends’.  Blaine blinked them away, determined.

            _He’s just in denial. He hasn’t forgiven me yet.  But he misses me and we are meant to be.  He knows that as well as I do.  He was convincing himself.  Protecting himself.  He doesn’t trust me not to hurt him again, but I need to show him.  I couldn’t do that again.  I just couldn’t._

His subconscious knows him so well.  It turns and tries to play on Blaine’s own deepest fears.

            …he was using you…

_Kurt’s not like that.  He is the sweetest, most sensitive and loving person I have ever met._

            …but he’s seeing someone.  He told you himself…

_Kurt wouldn’t cheat on someone he was with.  Not even for me.  He’s far too moral for that._

            …you thought you were too…

_He’s better than that. Better than me._

The subconscious revels as Blaine’s walls slam back up. 

_He is too good for me.  I have no right to even try to win him back.  He’ll never trust me again.  Not after what I did.  But I have to try.  I have to prove to him that we are worth it.  I know he wants to try again.  I know in my heart._

Blaine’s resolve overpowers his subconscious for the first time in months.  The walls crack and crumble again and he forces himself to smile.  He has to stay positive because if he doesn’t have this he’s not sure what he actually has any more.  He cannot allow himself to doubt.  His happiness is in Kurt’s hands.  It always has been and he needs to trust Kurt if Kurt is ever going to trust him again.

Her head hurts – it feels foggy, her thoughts unfocused.  She’s sure things used to be clearer, easier.  It is difficult to concentrate now.  She’s not sure why.  It’s been so gradual.  Sinking slowly, so painfully slowly into quicksand.  Pulled down, down, down.  She can’t remember when it started – the gradual descent into feeling like this.  She cannot pinpoint a day, or an event, or a trigger.  She’s almost forgotten what _before_ was like.  The concept of _happy_ , of _free_ , of _energy_.  When it is sunny and the sky is blue and the air heady with scent then she feels better – a little more focused, a little warmer, a little freer.  She was making progress, she’s sure of it.  Even tackled head-on the stress of her final exams, packing, the move, the battle over the inventory with the letting agents, the Wedding, the family dramas, the house purchase, the decorating.  Then the darkness came and all the progress was wiped away and everything, simply being, was a struggle again.  Was she getting better or were the meds numbing her?  Maybe their effect is wearing off.  Maybe that explains it.  She hates feeling like this – struggling to care, to act like everything is OK when it isn’t.  It really is not OK. 

‘You used to be _fun_.’

He’d told her that.  Her husband.  Did she really though?  Was she fun?  She can’t remember clearly.  Events, conversations, songs; she remembers with crystal clarity.  But the order of things is messed up, the faces, the places, the details – they’re hazy.  The dream/reality definition is lacking.  Her dreamscapes so clear after years of keeping a dream diary and training herself to remember them – every detail, that now they become memory and that confuses things.  She tries too hard now, or not at all.  Things just take so much energy and she doesn’t have enough.  She’s so tired all the time but when the night comes she finds it so hard to stop and to sleep.  She always wakes feeling exhausted.  Her eyes feel so dry her own tears sting.

She hates her body.  She wonders where all her muscle definition went and when she started to put on weight.  She’s never been comfortable in her own skin.  Never liked her body.  Always been self-conscious.  She’s not what anyone would call a classic beauty.  But she’s never struggled to find a partner.  Never struggled to woo.  She resolves to make an effort to start dancing again even if it is Zumba on the Xbox 360.  She wants to stop feeling disgusted when she looks in the mirror.  Already the voice in the back puts her down again. 

…you know you won’t.  When you get home you will do what you always do after work.  You’ll climb into bed with the cats, get the laptop and read slash fiction until you drift off…

 _Not tonight._  

An attempt at resolve.  But then she remembers that she needs to help her dad take back his car hire tonight as he’s flying back from Norway and he’ll be back by 3pm today and she won’t have any time to herself as she gets home around 4pm and there is no way she’ll dance in front of her husband later. 

              Her inbox pings and she knows it’s the office Google Chat.  Days drift together.  The edges blurred.

 

 **me:** Morning.   :)

  **Morgan:**  hi there

  **me:**  How's it going?

  **Morgan:**  not terribly

yourself?

  **me:**  Alright really.

  **Morgan:**  gd gd

busy day?

  **me:**  YES

  **Morgan:**  shouldn't, but lol

just the emphatic..ness?

  **me:**  How'd your chat go yesterday?

  **Morgan:**  was cancelled

postponed to today

  **me:**  AH.  OKies.  Hope it goes well.

  **Morgan:**  me too

  **me:**  J

  **Morgan:**  don't really want to move, but if the job's right...

  **me:**  Yes

Exactly

 Sent at 07:34 on Tuesday

  **Morgan:**  you ok?

or just need quiet

 Sent at 11:05 on Tuesday

  **me:**  Needed the quiet. J  

  **Morgan:**  makes sense, coding's a bugger when it's noisy. I shall leave you to it m'dear, enjoy J

  **me:**  ;)

 Sent at 11:07 on Tuesday

 

 

  **Morgan:**  mornin m'dear

fancy a coffee?

  **me:**  YES

  **Morgan:**  swing by here and we can head downstairs, bit o quiet

  **me:**  kk there in 5

 Sent at 09:06 on Wednesday

 

 

  **Morgan:**  good morning, how're you today?

  **me:**  Alright.  You?

  **Morgan:**  not three bad

liked the house yesterday

think we're going for it; Annie's calling them this morning

 Sent at 08:57 on Thursday

  **Morgan:**  so we'll be about 10 miles from you, rather than about 20

  **me:** Glad you liked. :)

 Sent at 09:00 on Thursday

 

  **me:**  How is it not even 9am yet????????

  **Morgan:**  I KNOW

  **me:**  WTF

 **Morgan:**  was just wondering why Annie hadn't texted about confirming the place and then realised the  **estate agents aren't even open**

  **me:**  LMAO

There's no such thing as too much coffee, right?

  **Morgan:**  correct

trust me

my brother's a doctor

(of psychology...)

  **me:**  Yeah....

  **Morgan:**  I'm on my first

and probably only of the day

and I just had a nice bowl of Crunchy Nuts

  **me:**  That sounds so very very wrong.

  **Morgan:**  but I love nuts L

(said in best Dr Tran voice)

  **me:**   **blank look**

  **Morgan:**  :o  An internet video you're not familiar with

  **me:**  They do exist.

  **Morgan:**  Dr Tran is awesome

 **me:**  Unfortunately there are a few I wish I hadn't seen so I could get them out of my head.

  **Morgan:**  this one has no songs or anything

  **me:**  'This Boy Is A Bottom' ('This Girl Is On Fire' parody) being one of them...

  **Morgan:**  it's about a 6 year old with an action movie voiceover guy talking about him

  **me:**  That does sound awesome.

  **Morgan:**  the language is NSFW though

 Sent at 09:07 on Thursday

  **me:**  Yeah

Neither is 'This Boy is A Bottom'....

  **Morgan:**  that does not surprise me, I must say

 Sent at 09:09 on Thursday

  **me:**  Thought it wouldn't.

 Sent at 09:11 on Thursday

 

Snippets of a friendship.  A conversation punctuated by days, nights, deadlines, coffee, and meetings.    She sighs inside and turns back to squint at her work.  She’s waiting on others again.  Cross-between bored and unfocused.  _Crossed-eyes, crossed-mind, crossed-fingers._

She must seem really jumpy to her colleagues.  Every time one appears she’s caught off guard as if she’s been caught with her hand in a cookie jar.  Consistently.  It’s not a new thing – The Guilty Reaction.  But now, with the meds, the majority of the accompanying feeling is missing.  She still can’t focus enough to pay attention though.  She gets caught up in what she’s doing and loses track of everything else.  She muses that it’s a consequence of getting used to ignoring the telly, or the music, or the light from the laptop, or the iron, when her husband is doing something and she’s trying to read or sleep.  She’s getting better at that.  She’s still not sure she’ll ever be able to really ever do two things at once though.  They’ll watch something on the Sky+ planner they’ve recorded and she’ll be reading at the same time and will either miss everything on TV or re-read the same paragraph 8 times and still have no clue what she just read.  It’s like when you’re driving and then you’re miles down the road and have no idea how that happened, then you panic and think _anything could have happened!_ and spend the rest of the journey overcompensating and concentrating really hard.  So hard, you’re not really concentrating.

That is every day for her at the moment.  A patchwork of fractured experiences.

She’s not sure how she feels about it anymore.

She yearns to sing and dance.  She’s not brilliant at either.  She misses the theatre.  But that is not something she could return to.  Not anymore.  She’s stuck in this office for the foreseeable future.  At least until her bi-annual review.  Which is not going to be great.  She knows that.

Maybe it’s the sense of belonging she misses.

                She could swear she’s been sitting at this desk for days.  It’s only 11:28.  How is time going so slowly?  She probably shouldn’t refill the French Press.  She’s already drunk the whole think to herself once already.

  **me:**  Here, have this  
<http://i.imgur.com/Y7lchaO.gif?1>

 Sent at 09:25 on Thursday

  **Morgan:**  btw, love the gif

 Sent at 10:06 on Thursday

  **Morgan:**  we have a new flat!

provided the credit check's ok

 Sent at 11:23 on Thursday

  **me:**  YAY

 Sent at 11:30 on Thursday

  **me:**  Shafts

Fun fun

  **Morgan:**  lol

 Sent at 12:36 on Thursday

  **me:**  Glad you liked the gif

 


	4. Prescribed pills to offset the shakes to offset the pills you know you should take it a day at a time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks' – Panic! At the Disco

She remembers memorizing that scene from ‘4.48 Psychosis’ by Sarah Kane and swearing she’d never need drugs.   That was _before_.  She gets frustrated with her parents and the older generation as there’s such a stigma with Depression.  Why is it so difficult to grasp such a simple concept: the brain has a chemical imbalance.

…what have you got to be depressed about?…

_Nothing.  That is the point._

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise.  She didn’t even hide it – she just didn’t bring it up.  It’s not like all her family members are stable.  Her Nan’s youngest sister, Maggie, was in a home for years because she couldn’t cope, and her own mother is most definitely bipolar with the way her moods shift seemingly independently of outside influence.  Treading on eggshells.  Understatements.  Clichés.

It had reached tipping point; the shaking anger, constant frustration, lack of ability to concentrate, the Guilt, and lethargy.  The workload and pressure added.  The Wedding and Family - multiplication factors.  Childhood issues never addressed.  Abandonment issues.  The need to be loved.  Deaths.  That powerless feeling.  The loss of control.  Loss.  The responsibility to make everyone happy.  Overcompensation.

She had spent the first counselling session in tears.  The release.  Someone outside it all listening.  She’s not crazy.  She’s not unreasonable.  She’s not selfish.  She’s not responsible for ensuring others’ happiness – only they can do that.  She is only capable of affecting herself.  Her own happiness. 

                …a _foreign concept…_

There was always a finite number of sessions.  She’d known that.  During one of them the term was batted around:

                Depression.

She’d promised to book an appointment with a doctor to get tested. 

                Yes.  It is depression.

Sertraline 50mg.  Night terrors – ants are crawling all over her body.  Swinging extremes of hot and cold.  Then the dreams were gone.  The anger dissipating.  Letting things go.  Admitting that not everything is in her control.  She cannot make people feel anything.  She cannot affect anyone but herself.  She refuses to be drawn into arguments.  Refuses to be involved.  She copes.  She copes.

                Then winter came.  The void after all the Life Changing Events.  The nothingness.  Life.  The day-in-day-out drudgery of work, housework, sleep, work, housework, sleep.  The too-short weekends - packing as much into them as possible.  Seeing friends.  Seeing family. 

Either she’s used to the drug or it is not as potent as it was or SAD is kicking in and over-balancing her.  But she’s slipping again.

She starts to revert to living through the films, books and TV series again.  Exhausting those she turns to fanfic and Slash as she had done for LOTR years before.  It is almost an addiction.  Escapism.  Living in the romance of the Other.


	5. I don’t want to be lonely no more - I don’t want to have to pay for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Lonely No More' – Rob Thomas

Her husband does not touch her anymore.  She craves the attention, the devotion that the lovers give each other in the fictions\films\books.  The Disneyfication of Reality.  She needs to be needed.  She wants to be wanted.  She’s tried to stimulate him to encourage him to reciprocate.  He seems just happy with sex.  The sex is always mind-blowing.  She’s not complaining about that.  She just wants to feel sexy.  To have someone explore her.  To be desired.

At the beginning of their relationship, that ‘honeymoon phase’, they explored each other.  Learnt what the other needed.  Discovered what made the other moan with desire, pupils blown with need.  She misses that.  She knows logically that it never stays like that, that it couldn’t.  It would be exhausting.  But she misses it.  She misses him needing her in that forceful animalistic way.   Primal.

She knows it is not all about her.  She knows he’s not happy in his own skin at the moment.  That he’s stressed with work.  That when he comes home he wants to relax.  That there are things she wants him to do to her that he has never been comfortable doing even though she still does similar things for him.  She _knows_ that.  But it doesn’t stop the sadness that washes over her when she thinks about it. 

She still feels the little pulse deep and low within herself when she thinks about him.  More muted recently.  She supposes she’s lucky to still feel it.  She wonders if he feels anything similar.  She’s tried to talk about it.  He never seems to want to.

So she turns to the escapism romances.  Lives through their want, their desires, their need, their pain.  The dramatized is always so amplified.  It resonates.

                Blaine _misses_ Kurt.  It feels like his heart is missing - torn from his chest.  A gaping emptiness – a raw wound.  The distance stretches him, leaving him empty and weak.  The weekend of the wedding-that-almost-was – those few days together in the same state – he’d felt almost whole again for the first time in so long.  He’d allowed himself to hope. 

He hadn’t noticed how much he had let himself be defined by Kurt.  He’d moved schools to be with him.  He’d redefined himself as _Kurt’s_.  Everything he did had been for Kurt.  To make _him_ proud to be with him.  Even becoming Senior Class President - it had all been for Kurt.  It absolutely terrified him that he didn’t know who he was without _him_ anymore. 

He had not anticipated how hard it would be without Kurt’s presence; his physicality.  He’d seen how stuck Kurt was when term had started after the summer – he could almost see Kurt’s drive and essence slip away with every coffee he’d made whilst working at ‘The Lima Bean’ café.  And it had made Blaine ache. 

Blaine is a physical relationship person.   He needs to be needed.  He thinks too much and when he’s left alone, without attention - without someone to focus his attention on and receive attention from, he over-thinks.  Over-analyses.  Self-sabotages.  For attention is attention. 

He should have talked to Kurt.  Should have told him how he was feeling.  How much he was struggling.  Explained it to him.  But Kurt had been so wrapped up in his new life _without_ him he hadn’t listened, hadn’t seen the warning signs.  Maybe Kurt had been avoiding it.  It wouldn’t have been the first time Kurt put his fingers in his ears, closed his eyes and ignored everything he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to see.  They’d spoken less and less as calls, texts, e-mails were missed or went unanswered.  As Skype dates were rescheduled and rescheduled. 

_I’m so sorry, B.  I’ll make it up to you – I promise! – K xox_

Digital hugs and pixel kisses.  Empty.  Easy.  Hollow.

Blaine had started to wonder whether Kurt was truly _the one_ for him.  They’d been each other’s first everything.  He had no frame of reference.  _His_ absence had hurt; hurt so deeply, so badly, that he just wanted to make it stop.  To make everything stop.  To cut his dependence on Kurt.  To make the pain go away.

The attention Eli had given him via Facebook had made him feel like he was sexy again, like he was wanted.  It was a faceless distraction.  He had not realised how much he had missed the attention.  Part of the emptiness was numbed by the diversion - like the part of _Blaine_ that Kurt had taken with him when he had left was, not returning, but healing over.  

Part of him had suddenly understood why Kurt had exchanged all those texts with Chandler during their Dry Spell.  He cringed when he thought back to how he had reacted – accused Kurt of cheating - calling him out in front of all their (Kurt’s) friends.

When he cheated he simultaneously destroyed his relationship with Kurt and realised what _love_ was; that what he and Kurt had shared ~~was~~ _is_ truly a Once-in-a-Lifetime thing.  It was the real deal and deep down he had always known that.  The horror of that realisation had drowned him.  Dragged him down, down, down.  The undertow.  That dreaded Undertoad of Garp’s.

Kurt had been his sun, his moon, his East, his West, his anchor, his reason to get up, his clichés, his Reason, _his_.

He had never felt so utterly disgusting before in his entire existence.  He was worthless.  He was nothing.  He had hurt the one person he loved more than life itself.  Kurt deserved so much better than that; than him.

After he’d come clean, after he’d cried himself to sleep every night for weeks, after he’d begun to face the fact that he alone had done it; he had struggled.  For months he had struggled to get himself to a place where he could be _Blaine_ again.  To work out what that meant now.  To find himself again.  He’d searched everywhere.  Tried everything.  Joined every club and activity he could.  Things had begun to get easier, especially after Kurt’s phone call over Thanksgiving – the first time Kurt had called him since Blaine’s fateful trip to New York - his _Guilt Trip_.  A seed had been sown during that conversation and his needy desperate self-loathing had grasped it and held on so tight.  Kurt had said he missed him.  Kurt said he still loved him.

When Burt had taken him to New York to see Kurt over Christmas and the three of them had spent time together he’d started to allow himself to truly hope.  To hope that Kurt could forgive him (he didn’t deserve it but he _needed_ it).  To hope that, one day, they could be _KurtandBlaine_ again not just Kurt and Blaine.  Until then he would be whatever Kurt needed him to be.

Then the events of the Wedding-that-almost-was had happened - They had kissed.  They had made out.  They had slept together.  They had…

Blaine stopped his train of thought with effort.  He needed to stop this.  He needed to steel himself.  He needed to be patient.  Kurt hadn’t called since.  They’d sent a couple of texts, but Kurt had closed down again.  Back in the _friend zone_ and it stung.  He felt so used.  But he deserved to be used.  If that’s what it took for Kurt to feel better then he’d take it.

Adam.  He’d heard from Rachel about Adam.  Kurt had even mentioned that he was

                ‘kinda seeing someone in New York.’

Denial, Desperation, and Desire had not let him pay attention.  He was split in two about Adam.  Part of him, the self-loathing part, wanted Kurt to be happy and if Adam made him happy then that was great.  The other part of him, the jealous irrational part, was terrified – what if he wasn’t Kurt’s one-true-love?  What if Adam was better than him?

His subconscious tormented him with images of _other_ hands touching Kurt in all the places Blaine knew made Kurt shudder in ecstasy.  _Other_ lips gradually moving over Kurt’s body removing all traces of Blaine.  _Other_ lips kissing Kurt.  _Other_ hands making Kurt moan, _other_ eyes watching him fall apart.

STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP _Ican’tdothis_

STOP

A command.  Blaine shook his head carding fingers through his hair.  He would give anything to take it back.  But he can’t.  He would give anything to know what Kurt was thinking, what Kurt is feeling.  But he doesn’t – he can’t know.  He tries to let it go - he’ll never win Kurt back like this.  Kurt deserves better than this mess. 

He needs to find himself.  He needs to become Blaine again. 


	6. There you go messing with my mind.  I am usually better when I lie.  You play me like I am made of strings – I’m the violin; a melody I want your lips to sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'In the Next Room' – Neon Trees

                It is finally Friday evening – the longest time before she has to return to work.  The hours, minutes, seconds before her husband gets home and now are hers alone.  She smiles to herself and changes out of her work clothes while the kitten weaves herself around her feet and between her legs, purring. 

The plan was to dance, or read a book, or watch a film, or do something for her.  Something relaxing.  Instead she checks her e-mails – one is from her mother and the Guilty feeling resurfaces.  Then all of the things she is worrying about break out and run around her mind – her 6 month review at work, her mother’s test results, her father’s health, getting the cats their vaccinations, the new car she’s bought and her guilt at selling her faithful red 1.0L Y-reg VW Polo Bertha, money, bills, cleaning, things she should be doing.

                Blaine looks around the house he’s come to know.  He tries not to think about how he got here.  He takes deep breaths.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  Calming himself.  Waiting for everything to stabilise.  It is not as bad as it was that first time – looking in the mirror and seeing himself but _layered_.  The woman is there too and if he looks too hard he’ll slip away again.  He glimpses her in the corner of his eye.  He tries to concentrate on remaining in the present.  On remaining Blaine.  The kitten ( _Dinah_ \- he knows her name just as he knows without trying all the details of _her_ life and where everything is in this house he finds himself alone in) looks at him.  He bends to scratch her ear then lies down on the bed.   She follows him, purring.

He’s in his parents’ house – he runs a hand through his hair, left natural and free from gel as it dries from his shower; and pads towards the kitchen.  He starts to make coffee when he hears a vehicle pull up outside.  He tilts his head to the side. 

 _Curious_ … 

His parents are in Italy and his older brother, Cooper, is still in Los Angeles.  He’s not expecting anyone.  He listens.  A car door opens.  Closes.  Footsteps approach the door.  He listens.  The footsteps are graceful with the click of a slight heel.  There is a hesitation.  Then a light knock.  Faint but there.  Blaine makes his way to the door expecting it to be a parcel perhaps, or someone needing directions or to use the phone.  In the doorway, framed by the weak morning sun, is Kurt.  Blaine’s eyes drink him in – he’s immaculate as always, but there’s something wrong.  Blaine knows that instinctively, but he wants so desperately for nothing to be the matter.  For it to be last year when they were _KurtandBlaine_ and for Kurt to have that glint in his glasz orbs.  That smile that lightens his heart.  But it is not _then_ \- it is now. 

Blaine remembers to breathe and his manners take over –

‘K-Kurt!  Come in.  I was just making coffee – would you like some?’

 _Smooth, Anderson.  Almost no hint that you’re coming apart.  You’re not even looking your best – you’re in sweats and a trashed t-shirt, and your hair is a mess.  That’s really going to win him back.  This was your chance and you’ve already blown it.  He’s probably here to tell you that he’s thought about it and no, you attending NYADA, you being in New York even, is a terrible idea.  That you should move on.  That you are pathetic.  Why would Kurt want a boy when he can have a man who probably looks like a model even when he’s relaxing or when he’s just out of the shower.  Hell – he probably_ is _a model._

His inner torture is suddenly cut short by Kurt bombarding his every sense.  Kurt’s lips hungrily claim his.  Kurt’s body is pressed against his, enveloping him.  Kurt’s arms around him – one hand fisting in the loose curls, still damp, at the nape of Blaine’s neck, holding him in place; the other against the small of his back lifting his t-shirt and groping for contact with skin.  For an eternity Blaine is overwhelmed by a sense of being, of wholeness, of belonging.  All he can feel is Kurt, all he can taste is Kurt, smell is Kurt, hear is Kurt.  He kisses Kurt back – his passion matching Kurt’s, harmonising with him.  His heart thrums.  One of them has closed the front door at some point and somehow they made it to the wall as Kurt is pressing Blaine up against it.  He can feel Kurt’s need through the tight black jeans he’s wearing and he’s certain Kurt’s aware of his own through his baggy sweatpants.  A moan escapes him and his eyes roll backwards as Kurt feverishly kisses his jawline, his neck, down to his collarbone, down to that place that makes Blaine’s knees weak… 

Something in Blaine snaps. 

‘K-Kurt… Kurt, stop, stop.  Please…’

He’s kicking himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  Kurt is frozen – Blaine cannot read the expression on his face.  Kurt backs away from Blaine and makes for the door embarrassed, and a little shocked.

‘What am I doing?  Sorry.  So stupid.’

‘Kurt, wait.  Please.’  Blaine goes after him.  Reaches for him.  Kurt pulls away.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Kurt.  Stop!  Please don’t go.’

Kurt stops and looks at Blaine.  Blaine’s mind is a whirling mess of curses but he manages to draw himself together.  Something a couple of months ago he would have been incapable of even considering, so desperate for Kurt to forgive him that he would probably have just continued along the path that Kurt had not a minute ago been taking him.  Repeating the events of the Wedding-where-no-one-was-wed.

‘Kurt, we need to talk.’

‘Why?  What is there to talk about?’  Kurt’s defences have slammed up against Blaine.

‘I can’t do this, Kurt.  I can’t take it.  I’m not strong enough and… and I’m kicking myself because I want you so badly.  But I just…I can’t, Kurt.  I need you to be honest with me and I know you owe me nothing, not after what I did to you, to us.  But I can’t give myself to you for you to break me so utterly.  I know you told me – you told me over and over that we’re _just friends_ now.  But friends don’t do what we did, Kurt.  Friends don’t…friends don’t have what we have.  What…what I thought we had.   Kurt, please talk to me.  Say something.’ 

His soul is raw and is pouring out to Kurt and he cannot seem to stop now he’s started.  All the hurt the shattered hope, it all floods him now that Kurt is there – standing right in front of him.  He wants Kurt.  Needs him so badly.  But he cannot go through the aftermath again – the heartbreak of having hope that the sex meant something.  That they would be together again, only to be smashed by the radio silence and the third hand knowledge that Kurt was spending all his time with Adam…

Blaine looks up at Kurt and is moved to see a reflection of his own tears in Kurt’s clear eyes.  Instinct kicks in and Blaine moves forwards to hold Kurt as if that would fix everything.  Kurt weakens against him and Blaine holds him.  They stay like that wrapped in each other, supporting each other in silence for seasons, for years.  After a millennia has passed Kurt takes a shaky breath -

‘I am so utterly in love with you, Blaine.  I tried to not be.  I didn’t want to be.  You hurt me so badly - I wanted to hate you.  But I can’t…I can’t hate you. ‘

Kurt pulls away slightly from Blaine and their eyes lock – it is like coming home. 

‘I love you, Kurt.’

‘I know.  I’m sorry, Blaine.’

‘What for?’

‘For the last couple of months.  It’s just that…  Being with you – you feel so right, Blaine.  I hated you for it.  Singing with you, kissing you, dancing with you.  It all felt so perfect.  Like our lives were just slotting back together effortlessly.  I wanted to prove to myself that I could be OK without you.  That being with you didn’t define me, didn’t make me feel whole – that you weren’t perfect.  But you are.  It was and always is perfect and I hated myself, Blaine.  I hated myself because I realised that I had forgiven you.  I didn’t want to forgive you.  I’d thought that being with you again would get you out of my system.  But it only reminded me how everything stops when I’m with you.  How nothing else matters.  And that’s not fair.  I needed some space to breathe.  To clear my head and I’m sorry.  I thought that doing what you’d done, being with…with someone else, would... But it didn’t.  I just ended up hurting him because every minute I spent with him I was looking for you and you weren’t there.  We’d be watching a film together and it’d be lovely and sweet and new and then suddenly I’d remember that _we’d_ watched it together and you’d laughed at how invested I’d been in the characters and I’d thrown popcorn at your head and you’d kissed me… It isn’t fair.  He tried.  He took me to see a new film – one that you and I had no association with.  But I spent the entire time knowing you’d have hated it and wondering what you’d have said and knowing that whatever it was would have made me laugh…  I wanted to be in love with him….’

The energy left Kurt’s voice and he sounded so hollow.  He sighed and looked at Blaine.

‘I love you.  Only you, Blaine, and I can’t do this anymore.  We’re not friends.  We shouldn’t kid ourselves.  We’ll never be friends…  The funny thing is, he was so understanding – even after he’d let me take my time and dictate the pace.  He knew I wasn’t over you.  Knew I’d never be over you…’

Kurt had thrown so much at Blaine his mind was racing – first showing up, kissing him, then breaking down and then telling him all of _this_.  He couldn’t process it all.

‘What do you want, Kurt?’  He asked softly.  Dread and hope and fear and desperation gnawing at his insides, circling him.  He felt sick. 

‘I want _us_ , Blaine.  I want to give us another chance.  I need to know that we gave it everything.’

Blood was rushing in Blaine’s ears and he felt so faint.  His cheeks felt wet and he knew he must be crying but he didn’t care.  Couldn’t care because Kurt, _his_ Kurt, wanted to try again. 

‘I love you so much, Kurt.’

‘I love you too.’

Kurt was in his arms again.  Blaine rested his head against Kurt’s shoulder steadying himself; he felt weightless.  Kurt brought a hand up to his chin and brought his lips down to meet Blaine’s.  This kiss was nothing like the fevered desperation of the previous ones.  This one was full of meaning and unspoken promises.  This one was Hope.

The rumbling of a diesel engine nagged at the corner of Blaine’s mind.  He ignored it - too wrapped up in Kurt to care.  The sound of a car door and footsteps.

_No no no no no!_

He closed his eyes and kissed Kurt, breathing him in, holding him close.

The sound of a door opening.

                Blaine opened his eyes - he was on a bed.  He closed his eyes again, desperate to return.

_No!  Kurt?! Not now.  Please.  Nonononono!_

The woman’s husband had returned:  Kurt was not here.  Kurt had not forgiven him.  Kurt had not come back.  Kurt was not his.

Emptiness.

Nothingness.

Despair.

He let go.


	7. Takes a lot of sentimental valiums… It isn't very smart - tends to make one part so broken-hearted. I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish, a little bit tower of Pisa whenever I see you - so please be kind if I'm a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk (Reprise)' – Rufus Wainwright

**_March 2013_**        

It has been snowing now for days.  There are no clouds in the bright blue sky and the sun is finally shining, but yet it persists from somewhere.  Driving feels like ploughing through a light swarm of moths, or tiny fairies.  Mercilessly mowing them down. 

It is bitterly cold for March.  The men in the office compare it to the springs of the 60’s and pull down the blinds blocking her view of the crisp clear-blue sanity and severing the strings tethering her sky.  Wait - switch sanity and sky?

She’s losing her grip.

Even the birds had cackled at her darkly as she battled the freezing wind; inelegant and stiff as the flakes of pure snow twirl and pirouette.

_You’re being ridiculous._

She does not feel like she is though - sane or ridiculous. 

She had another conversation with her father yesterday.  Another attempt to explain to someone who has been indoctrinated in the belief (like most of his generation) that Depression is simply depression – a feeling that is unfounded in her case, that one should merely ‘get over it’, that it is not a chemical imbalance in the brain,  that it is something she can control.  If only it were that easy.  That belief is the whole reason she suffered with it for so long to begin with.  She thought the same.  She thought that she had nothing to be depressed about and therefore she should not be Depressed. 

Her review is coming up in April – there is no way she would have been able to come off the medication during the winter.  Not with it being so dark and miserable outside.  Not with the compounded effect of S.A.D.  She’s not expecting to be allowed to begin to wean herself off Sertraline.  She’s expecting the dosage to be increased.  All the progress she was making seems to have been wiped away.

                Her dreams are not as vivid as they were – it is as if the colour has faded and the edges are blurred.  The tone has changed.  She was never frightened of spiders yet now they are in her dreams terrifying her.  It is passing through to reality. 

She’s suddenly squeamish now too.  People will talk about injuries and operations and now her stomach will turn and her hearing will become blocked with cotton wool.

She is struggling to keep up.

                Her husband is ill.  Whenever he is ill he becomes easily irritated, oversensitive to comments, insensitive to her feelings, and generally difficult.  When she’s also ill he becomes intolerable.  He turns things into a competition – she has cold hands, so does he but he has Raynaud's disease.  She has a cold, he has a sinus infection. 

The insensitivity makes her dread the idea of children.  How would she cope with him if she were pregnant?  With swollen feet and aching back…  She already has a bad back – she injured her shoulder when she worked in the theatre, but whenever she needs her back rubbed – his back hurts too.  She’s in chronic pain.  Some days it is more bearable than others, but she is never pain free.  27 (? – she cannot quite remember anymore) years old and in chronic pain.  It is actually made worse by her desk job.

Part of her wishes she had never introduced her husband to massage.  It was the only way to get him to consent to the level of contact she needed at the time, however.  The only way he’d let her run her hands over his body.  Exploring him as she was desperate to be explored.   Worshiping flesh.  It is her own fault really.  She should get him massage lessons for Christmas, perhaps that would help?  Somehow she doubts it.  He does not seem to enjoy giving her pleasure or touching her.

The longer this continues the more she dissolves in fantasy relationships – craving the feeling of being desired – of someone wanting to touch, of _needing_ to touch.  The longer this continues the harder it will be to be OK with where she is and what she has.  But it is an addiction. 

                In the breaths while her code is compiling she tries to focus on why she is wrong and everything she thinks is unjustified.  She makes lists and writes reports.  She analyses.  She tries logical approaches.  Ultimately it is always about control even if it is an acknowledged delusion.

 **Root cause:** Rejection Sensitivity stemming, as is typical, from early childhood experiences.

 **Underlying predisposition:**   Neuroticism.

 **Symptoms:** Hypersomnia; difficulty making decisions; problems concentrating; feelings of guilt and low self-esteem; pessimism; frequent feeling of sadness, apathy and irritability.

 **Diagnosis:** Atypical Depression.

 **Solution:** Tackle the root cause, obviously.  A brief Google search reveals the top suggestion:

  * Thicken your skin by embarrassing yourself at least once a day.



Maybe her Drama degree was useful for other reasons than education then.

                The office is stifling today.  It is too warm and she cannot breathe.   She’s already been for a walk over to stores with Morgan – some fresh air and a fresh view.  Morgan is sympathetic and tries to brighten her up.  She tries to cheer Morgan up about his potential job move as he’s still miserable in his current job.  She understands – she does not particularly like this office either. 

It is Grae’s birthday and so samosas appear.  She goes over to wish Grae many happy returns.  He’s 27 today.  He invites her to his birthday meal – she hadn’t been aware he was having one.  She knows that she cannot really afford to go out this month.  Part of her resents this as she knows it would be fun, even though Morgan cannot make it and she would not really know anyone else.  She likes Grae.  He’s a little barmy but he’s got a huge heart.  She returns to her desk and then her Google messenger pings:

  **Graeme:**  boo

  **me:**  Hello chikadee

  **Graeme:** i invited you :)

  **me:** Merci!  :)

  **Graeme:**  if you need help getting there let me know

  **me:**  Thank you, darling.  xx

  **Graeme:**  thats if you want/can come

lol

  **me:** :)

How's your day going?

Car sounds awesome btw.

  **Graeme:**  erm, not bad. Checking drawings, which is always a game!

lol its a shed

<http://www.rodsnsods.co.uk/forum/vehicles-sale/fox-mustang-convertible-5-o-ltr-cheap-76782>

but has a rebellious hideous cheesy appeal

  **me:**  Doesn't sound too bad.  It has a 'usable' roof.  What more do you want?

:D

  **Graeme:**  I bet its like a colander! Looks like a tramps hat haha

How is your day?

 Sent at 11:33 on Tuesday

  **me:**  Alright, thanks.  Coding so it's going soooooo slowly.

  **Graeme:**  ooh, sounds quite complicated

do you put any secret codes in for fun?

  **me:**  Sometimes.  Not in final versions though.  Use silly names for test variables sometimes.  Hehehehe

  **Graeme:**  haha, you should build a little sonic game in if you press the horn 3 times and press other buttons

like some secret haha

  **me:**  Hehehe  That would be manic

  **Graeme:**  what do you have to code?

Sorry if you are busy and want me to leave you alone just say!

i see the busy sign is up in action lol

 Sent at 11:37 on Tuesday

  **me:**  lol.  Yeah.  Coding is one of those activities that while you're writing it takes all your attention but when it is running or compiling leaves you bored with nothing to do.

Writing a program that takes CAD parts and finds where they should be linked together and does so.

 Sent at 11:39 on Tuesday

  **Graeme:**  wow, very clever! so you are the DS police?

or are creating one lol

  **me:**  That's the plan, yep.

:P

  **Graeme:** :)

lol my nan makes me laugh

  **me:**  She text/ring you?

  **Graeme:**  she was on about giving me some money for a new car

  **me:**  Awwwwww

  **Graeme:**  in her card she said I will give you some money

but, £50 wont get me one haha

  **me:**  Awww bless her.

  **Graeme:**  She originally said around £5000!

she must have thought twice lol

I get moaned at when they see my shed when I go home and try to force me to buy a new car

  **me:**  In the 60s you could get a car for £50?

  **Graeme:**  probably lol

she doesnt drive though

so she has never had a clue

  **me:**  Yeah.... that there is your problem....

 **Graeme:**  what car u gonna get next?

  **me:**  Bought a new 1.4L Polo.  Just a little run around.  The old one was Y reg 1L Polo.

Upgrade.

Husband's new car will be a fun one when we have the money.

  **Graeme:** :)

what will that be?

  **me:** No idea yet.  Looking around.  :)

Last time it was a 3 series tourer.... Currently a Golf 1.9 TDI for sensible reasons.  Thinking a sports car of some kind.  Prob a soft top knowing him.

  **Graeme:**  ooh

classy

  **me:**  lol

  **Graeme:**  I am unfortunately a bit trailer. People say the crap cars suit me

I dont seem to fit a nice car haha

  **me:**  I wouldn't say that.

lol

They're classics.

Bit of love required.  That kind of thing.

Rough around the edges.

  **Graeme:**  yeah haha i guess. They are loud and obnoxious and needing a bit of love a bit like me

  **me:**  With character.

:)

  **Graeme:**  haha

btw is it hot in here or what

its stupid!

air con is dead

  **me:**  I know!  All these PCs!

*note I avoided the obvious ‘It's getting hot in here...' lyrics

  **Graeme:** yes haha why do we all think that ;)

I found a bungalow in binley!

looking at 4pm lol

 Sent at 11:51 on Tuesday

  **me:**  That's exciting!  didn't know you were moving....

  **Graeme:**  I want to move

Neighbour is a druggie and I have a screaming child above

I watch him dealing out his window when I am washing up the pots

and I want a garage

so I can have an outlet for stress

  **me:**  Yeah.... You need to move....

  **Graeme:**  if you had let me know sooner about the polo, I would have stole it from Morganl lol

  **me:**  My husband sold it to his brother.

  **Graeme:**  my 106 makes me depressed as its so grumpy to drive, the synchros are slow and its about as refined as a skateboard

  **me:**  Even Morgan didn't get it.

  **Graeme:**  ohh

  **me:**  Yeah

  **Graeme:**  :,(

  **me:**  I know!

I <3ed my polo.  She was called Bertha.

  **Graeme:**  haha, lovely! sounds like a name for a fatty car. Big bertha

  **me:**  She was lovely.

hehehe

  **Graeme:**  not a skinny polo

My 205 was called roger

  **me:**  Roger the 205

  **Graeme:**  roger died :\

  **me:**  Hehehehe

:)

  **Graeme:**  his piston rings were non existant

  **me:**  Shouldn't have rogered him so often....

  **Graeme:**  I am surprised I didnt get pulled over, the smoke was horrific

I used to have it off the dash on the speedo, he was very quick

£50 i paid for him lol

it had faded orange

so I got the dukes of hazzard stickers for it

he even had a choke lol

 Sent at 11:59 on Tuesday

  **Graeme:**  how are you settling in now?

  **me:** Alright.  It's OK.  I'm leaving in 3 weeks - got to work at the other site.  :(

^^ See you  **can**  buy a car for £50.  Not that you necessarily would want one...

 Sent at 12:06 on Tuesday

  **Graeme:**  oh noo L

dont leave us haha

  **me:**  LOL

Have to I'm afraid. ;) 

  **Graeme:**  but you are actually nice, and we want to get rid of the boring nasty people lol

probably that would mean we would only have about 10 people left in here but still lol

  **me:**   **hugs** It's not permanent.  I'll be back in the main building after that!  :)

  **Graeme:**  ah cool :P

let me know if there are any vacancies

I am sick of this office

it poops on my soul

  **me:**  Shall do.  I think everyone wants to leave here....

Morgan says the same.

  **Graeme:**  I am all hyper and friendly and everyone is miserable

and because of that I get put down loads in my SPR

and noone takes me seriously

just because I am light hearted

even my manager said its unfair

  **me:** :(  I know.  It really sucks.  I hated it when I first started here - I'd come in in the morning and say 'hello' and be cheery but noone replies.  They're all so miserable and headsdown.

My real office isn't like this at all.

They're fun.  You'd love it in my usual office.

They're all jokers.

Plus you'd get to go on test.

  **Graeme:**  :D

Give me a jobby PLAYSE!

lol

  **me:**  Have you been over to speak to anyone about maybe moving?

  **Graeme:**  but I am not the sharpest tool or brightest bulb, but I make up for it in a big heart haha

I am poop at maths

I forgot it all

  **me:** 3/4 of our guys in came through as apprentices.

  **Graeme:** I did speak to Ray

  **me:** Ray?

  **Graeme:**  but he wont let me go. My manager

  **me:**  He can't force you to stay.

  **Graeme:** well he kind of said I should stay here until my performance review is good

  **me:** Circular argument - your review won't improve if you're unhappy.

  **Graeme:**  exactly

thanks

  **me:** No problem.

  **Graeme:** Its nice there is hope :)

I nearly left last week

  **me:**  There is always hope.

Awwww honey.

You feel like that again you come talk to me.

  **Graeme:**  thanks :*

haha didnt mean to do a love face

but thanks

:)

  **me:**  LOL

No problem, darling.

 Sent at 12:18 on Tuesday


	8. I can't have you close so I become a ghost and I watch you, I watch you.  Oh, how long ’till your surrender to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Your Surrender' – Neon Trees

                She is unfair to her husband.  His recent promotion is causing him a lot of stress.  His organisation is badly understaffed for the amount of work and he is split between two offices.  He usually spends hours each evening doing overtime to try and catch up.  Fighting fires with paperwork.  He’s run himself ragged.  She knows he has.  He has been so supportive of her while she has been ill.  She knows that it is not his responsibility to make her feel good about herself.  That is hers and hers alone.  She struggles.

She’s having a clearer day today although most things are not going in her favour.  Her father is running her into work while she waits for delivery of her new car so she is unable to balk out of going in.  The code she is attempting to finish before her SPR is due is also not working.  These things should put her in a bad place.  But today they do not.

She thinks that it is because her husband made time for her last night – they cuddled together on the sofa with no laptops and she felt loved.  That definitely helped.

                Time has jumped for Blaine.  He’s moved to New York, has his own place – a 2 bed apartment he’s sharing with a friend of Cooper’s, Darien.  Darien is closer in age to Blaine than Cooper, likes to be known as ‘Dare’ and, though they had never met previously, they get on surprisingly well.  Dare has been living in New York for a couple of years and has really helped Blaine figure things out – something he could not do whilst surrounded by people he knew in Ohio.  Dare, like Blaine, is gay and so knows which clubs to go to, which to avoid, where to eat out, where to shop, etc. etc.  He’s also a musician and was thrilled to find the Blaine could play guitar and piano, so now the pair of them play all Dare’s usual gigs in bars and coffee shops as a duo.  Which has so far turned into a nice little earner, meaning Blaine can supplement his own living expenses doing something he actually enjoys rather than resorting to working any hours he can get serving in a bar, coffee shop, or restaurant - which is what he’d expected he’d have to do.

Blaine feels at home in himself again.  He’s back in his element and has started to accrue a close circle of friends.  He knows who he is, what he wants and where he’s going.  He has focus and a purpose again.  He is actually looking forward to starting College; however, he’s not sure how _he_ will react…  Blaine has not seen _him_ \- has not even told _him_ that he is in New York.  He wanted some time to adjust by himself which is why he moved less than a week after his Graduation when Cooper had introduced him to Dare. 

It just feels so good to have come to New York to start the next phase of his life as Blaine.  Not as Kurt’s Blaine.  Had the original plans actually gone to fruition as they’d planned – Blaine would have moved in with Kurt and Rachel ( _and Santana,_ he muses) and Blaine would have met Kurt’s friends and gone to the coffee shop Kurt had discovered, and visited the places Kurt had found and had been dying to introduce him to…  Not now.  This way when they meet again Blaine will be Blaine.  Independent.  His own man.  When they meet again they will be on equal footing.  Blaine knows Kurt will be mad at him for not letting him know that he was in New York.  But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.  He’s actually happy for the first time in his life and ready to see where life takes him.

Blaine genuinely smiles as he steps onto the stage with Dare – guitars in hand, to take their positions.  He knows hardly anyone from before would recognise him anymore – in the few months he’s been living in NY he’s grown his hair out a little and, thanks to a bet he had epically and utterly lost to Dare -

‘I bet it is nowhere near as bad as you think it is, B.  Come on – you’re always going on about how you want to free up – to live a little.  You’re going out tonight with me and the lads and _no gel_.  I bet you… all your drinks tonight! that you get hit on within 5 minutes or walking into the club.’

Blaine laughed.  ‘You know what?  You’re on.  I bet everyone laughs – and pity attention _does not_ count!’

‘Put your hand out, B.  Shake on it.’

\- he had pretty much completely stopped using gel.  Gone also were the bow-ties (mostly, however, an occasional one still made it into his ensemble) and the _Geek-Chic_ look he had sported back in Ohio when he had left behind the Dalton blazer to join McKinley.  Dare had taken one look at his wardrobe, taken the day off from his day job at one of the fringe theatres where he was an usher - ‘It’s an emergency, B.!’ – and dragged him out for the day.  Waistcoats, shirts, hats, boots, braces, and jeans had infiltrated his wardrobe.  Tonight he’s kept it simple - fitted black jeans, black leather belt, black leather biker boots, and a black v-neck t-shirt.  For the rockier evening gigs, like this one, he even wears guyliner. 

Looking over the rims of his pink Wayfarers at the crowd below him he plugged his guitar in and stepped up to the mic.  A quick nod from Dare confirms he’s also ready.

                ‘Good evening!  I’m B. and he’s Dare and we are _Free Beer! ­_ – yes the name sucks, suggestions would be welcome.’  A laugh ripples over the crowd.  ‘See Dare – they agree with me.’  A louder laugh provides punctuation.  The crowd is friendly and up for a good time.  He’s playing to them and they’re responding.  Encouraged and with energy high he carries on.  ‘For those who are new to us we do requests during our second set so leave them with Jim behind the bar.’  A quick nod towards Jim and he continues checking the tuning and level of his guitar as he talks.  ‘Oh yeah, try to make them legible Jim!  We don’t want a repeat of what happened last time!’  The laughter bubbles.  They launch into a stripped down ‘Sins of My Youth’ by Neon Trees that Blaine has rearranged for two guitars, with Blaine providing lead vocals.  The crowd erupts and Blaine feeds off their energy.   

                Between hopeful fan girls and Jim the pints keep coming for Dare throughout the set.  Blaine has stopped trying to explain he’s underage and instead nurses one pint throughout the set favouring the bottle of water he’s brought with him instead.  If anyone notices they don’t seem to care.  They bring the set to a close with Blaine’s arrangement of ‘Time to Dance’ by Panic! At the Disco, then place the guitars in stands and step down towards the bar.  As usual both are accosted – a couple are regulars – _fans!_ – some of whom Blaine is starting to recognise, a couple are actually friends - mostly from Dare’s time in college or from his work, and a couple of guys Blaine has met through excursions with Dare clubbing in Greenwich Village. 

An arm drapes around Blaine’s shoulder – thankfully it belongs to Dare and not a presumptuous or overenthusiastic drunk this time.  They have started pretending they’re a couple some nights to put off the fan girls a little.  However, Dare’s single at the moment and so he’s looking to score.  Blaine raises an eyebrow at him and Dare grins giving him a peck on the cheek.  Blaine removes Dare’s sweaty arm and heads to the restrooms to freshen up.  He feels sticky from the heat of the lights on the stage, there are too many people tonight, too many bodies and he finds he cannot breathe.

Removing his sunglasses and hanging them from the belt loop of his jeans he bends to splash water on his face – thankful for waterproof eyeliner.  He grips the edge of the basin and locks eyes with his reflection in the mirror.  He takes a couple of deep breaths.  This is the only alone time he will get until the gig is over.  His ears are ringing from the noise but he still feels pretty buzzed.  Refreshed he heads back out, locates Dare across the bustling room and makes his way over. 

Dare’s in the process of getting some guy’s number.  The guy is actually kind of cute – short spiky black hair, deep blue eyes, dimples.  Blaine smiles at him.  The guy says something that is instantly swallowed by the DJ’s filler music.  Dare leans in close and says something to the guy then grabs Blaine’s shoulder and gestures to the stage.  They make their way back over to find Jim’s provided them with fresh pints and a notepad which will contain the requests.  Blaine knows without looking that most of them will be _Top 40_ hits, and the rest will be _old school_ , with a couple of drunken attempts at jokes thrown in for good measure.  He picks up his guitar and the notebook then looks up – the crowd have quietened in anticipation.  He smiles.

                ‘Well hello again!’

He is rewarded with a barrage of noise from the group – a large percentage are well on their way to nasty Saturday morning hangovers by now. 

                ‘I promised you some requests so let’s see what we have…’  He opens the notebook and scan-reads the first page.  ‘I’m going to try to do them in order…  OK.  Jen and…  I think that says Victoria?...’  A woman’s ‘woo!’ pierces the bustle – probably Jen or Victoria.  He continues ‘…have requested ‘Mr. Brightside’ by The Killers.  Then we’ve got ‘Summer of 69’ by Bryan Adams for Nina and Kerri.’  A wolf whistle comes from his left.  ‘Your wish, ladies, is our command…’  He grins as he starts playing the opening of The Killers song and the crowd roars.

Most of the second set goes like that – as the evening wears on the number of hecklers increases and Blaine has it covered.  He’s gotten used to playing gigs and Dare prefers to let Blaine take the lead.  He’s mostly in it for the money anyway.  Dare realised very quickly how talented Blaine was at being able to play pretty much anything off the cuff and had suggested they make the second set ‘requests only’ as a kind of gimmick – something that would make people talk.  Dare’s usually able to kind-of keep up with the better known stuff – filling in the rhythm guitar sections and some backing vocals.  If something he knows well comes up he tends to step up and take the lead to give Blaine a break.  But Blaine wouldn’t do it if he didn’t enjoy it.  And he really does enjoy the challenge.  The thrill of not knowing what will be requested next.  There have been a couple of occasions where he’s not known the song, but generally he knows them.  The really well known stuff that gets a little boring he’s started to make up his own versions of and they tend to be well received - to the point where some of their regulars are requesting his versions of the songs specifically.  But tonight he’s not really in the mood so he’s only planning on doing two more requests before calling it a night.  Most of the songs that are requested are so standard now that he doesn’t need to think while performing.  It’s easy to get lost in thought.  He’s getting tired.  Yes - two more then he’ll sign off.  Dare will leave him to pack up while he gets another quick drink in then they’ll head back to Dare’s.  Blaine will shower and fall asleep while Dare has another couple from the fridge whilst watching reruns of 90s comedies on the TV.  The thought is almost comforting in its mundane normality.  How quickly this has become his life….

A heckler brings him back from his thoughts.  He squints into the crowd against the glare from the stage lights and spots the culprit.  Sean – one of Dare’s on-again-off-again partners.  Sean’s a nice guy and Blaine likes him but he’d tried to get too touchy with Blaine a couple of times and he can be a nasty drunk so Blaine has started to avoid any alone time or too much contact with Sean.

                ‘…OK, ok.  I think _you’ve_ had enough, Sean!  Right… now we’ve got a special request… it doesn’t say who for…‘Teenage Dream’…’  The ground falls away from his feet, a bus hits him, all the air is knocked from his lungs.  He was not prepared for this.  Dare is looking at him.  He forces himself to get it together – no one but Dare seems to have noticed his lapse.  He clears his throat.  ‘’Teenage Dream’ by Katy Perry.’

He hasn’t sung this song since The Break-Up.  As he plays, he knows it so well it is automatic; he makes eyes to the faceless girls and guys who have crowded to the front as if it was just another song.  He can feel Dare’s eye burning into the side of his head while he sings.  He knows there will be questions later but for now he ignores Dare, ignores the words he’s singing and ignores everything they once meant.  He draws the song to a close.

                ‘I’m afraid that’s it from us.  We’ve been _Free Beer!_ ’

                ‘And you’ve been _fabulous_!’  Dare finishes for him.  Routine.

Blaine turns to pack away his guitar donning his Wayfarers again – he doesn’t want to make eye contact right now with anyone.   He just wants to go home and think.  He steps off the stage and almost right into _Him_.

                ‘Hello, you.’

 


	9. I'm the new cancer; I’ve never looked better, and you can't stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'There’s a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just haven’t thought of it yet …' - Panic! At the Disco

                ‘Kurt!  Hi…I mean, hey!’  Blaine fumbles with his guitar and pulls off his Wayfarers returning them to his belt loop.  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you…’

                ‘ _You_ weren’t expecting to see me?  Really, Blaine?  You’re in _New York_!  I wasn’t expecting to see _you_!  When did that happen?  When were you going to tell me?’  The pitch of Kurt’s voice is cutting straight through the DJ’s club music.  Dare saves Blaine by appearing behind him.

                ‘Who’s this, B.?’  Dare places an arm protectively across Blaine’s shoulders.

                ‘Dare, this is Kurt.  Kurt, Dare.’  Blaine’s manners kick in and he’s on autopilot.  His brain is overloaded so it is the safest bet right now.

                ‘And how do we know, Dare, Blaine?’  Kurt is looking straight at Blaine.  Taking in the tight jeans, the fitted t-shirt, the eyeliner… Dare’s dressed in ripped studded jeans, a white vest and a red shirt left unbuttoned.  Dare’s arm feels leaden around his shoulders.

                ‘Could we not do this now… I was just heading home.  Do you want to meet up for a coffee or something, maybe tomorrow?’  Blaine cringes inside.  He knows he’s copping out but this is not how he planned seeing Kurt again.  It is all blowing up in his face.

                ‘No, I think now’s good, Blaine.’

                ‘Look… Kurt, is it?  I don’t know who you think you are but whatever _this_ is,’ Dare gestures, ‘it can wait until tomorrow.’

                ‘Hey, Dare.  It’s alright.’  Blaine quickly diffused Dare.  ‘I’ll see you back at the flat, later.  OK?’

                ‘You sure, B.?’

                ‘Yeah.  I kind of owe Kurt an explanation.’  Dare took a long look at Blaine and then to Kurt who has not moved an inch and looked to be wound tight enough to crack if someone happened to touch him.  Blaine’s honey eyes locked on his and he nodded begrudgingly unwinding his arm from Blaine’s shoulders and taking his guitar from him.

                ‘Alright.  See you at home.’

Blaine watched as Dare negotiated his way back towards the bar and the spiky-haired cutie from earlier.  He turned back to find himself dazzled by Kurt’s furious ice orbs.  Blaine gestured for Kurt to follow and started making his way out through to the back of the club feeling Kurt follow him.  He barely felt the cool air hit him as he stepped into the alley behind the old brick building.  His mind was racing.  Everything was wrong.  Somehow he had messed everything up again. 

                ‘What is this, Blaine?’  Blaine stopped walking and turned to face Kurt.

                ‘Look, Kurt, I’m sorry, alright?’  The words feel hollow in his mouth.  Overused.  The guilty feeling in his chest washes over him again he’s so close to falling back into his Ohio self.  He desperately searches for the silver thread of his new confidence, grasps it, and clings on to it with all his mental strength.  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was in New York.  I just… Dare’s roommate up and left and he needed someone to help pay the bills and I thought it would be a good idea to move over early.  To get to know the city a little.  I was going to call but…’  The look Kurt was giving him caused him to stop.

                ‘You know how lame that sounds, right?’  Something in Blaine snaps.

                ‘What do you want from me, Kurt?  I’m sick of apologising to you…I feel like a parrot.  Yes, I should have told you I was coming to New York, but it’s no different than if Tina or…or Artie moved up here.  We’re _just friends_ remember?  You’ve reminded me often enough. ’ 

All his pent up hurt, frustration and anger suddenly poured out and crashed into the ice around Kurt.  His eye’s meet Kurt’s and they stare at each other for a long time, and then suddenly the absurdity of the situation hits them both and they’re laughing.  Neither can breathe.  The laughter eventually dies and when Kurt speaks again it is softly.

                ‘I almost didn’t recognise you up there.  Your new look is… different.  Since when do you use make-up and what convinced you to finally ditch the product and free the curls?  Someone’s obviously introduced you to mousse.’

                ‘It’s a long story…’ 

                ‘Tell me about it over coffee sometime?’

                ‘If you like.’

                ‘You look good, Blaine.  Better than good…’  Kurt broke eye contact, blushing slightly.  ‘Sorry for exploding at you.  I had no right.  I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you up there, like that… Then you sang _that_ song…’  Kurt broke off knowing Blaine understood.  Blaine reached for his hand.  Kurt let him take it.

                ‘I really am sorry, Kurt.  I was just…  I was worried you’d change your mind and say you’d rather I didn’t come to New York after all.’

                ‘I could never think that.’

                ‘I know.’  A smile.  Small, but there.  They stand in silence for what feels like a very long time.  Both lost in their own thoughts.  Blaine’s eyes meet Kurt’s and a pained look crosses Kurt’s features.  He breaks eye contact again and Blaine’s confused until Kurt mumbles:

                ‘Dare seems nice…’  Realisation crosses Blaine’s mind and he rushes to correct Kurt.

                ‘Oh!  You think…!  No!  Dare’s a friend of Cooper’s from some show pilot they worked on together that never made it.  He’s not…  We’re not…  T-together or anything.  He’s just helping me out with somewhere to stay.’  Silence rests heavily around them while the words sink in.  Their eyes link again and the familiar spark is still there.  Kurt seems reassured.  Happy with Blaine’s explanation but that doesn’t make sense because Kurt is with Adam.  But Blaine’s not had any contact with anyone from _before_ for months.  Maybe... Blaine doesn’t want to ask but knows he has to know. 

                ‘So… you still seeing that British guy?  Adam, right?’


	10. I’m trying to get your attention but you’re acting exactly as you do in my dreams and you’re finding out that you’re losing the game - that’s the thing about trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Trust' – Neon Trees

She's starting to feel a bit better.  At least, she's been smiling a bit more and her husband told her he's glad she's happier again.  There's not been a change to her medication so it must be the glimpses of the elusive sun.

Her placement is winding down now - the puzzle she'd been working on for months is solved now.  Funny story - it was starting to frustrate her and she couldn't see the solution.  Then she was ill and working from home with a headache so she thought she'd try to write the code from scratch on paper.  The next day she typed it in with a couple of minimal changes – mostly syntax - and it worked.  Since then, she's not really had much to do and she's loathe to start any new work as she only has until next Thursday (a half day) before she's off to Falmouth over the Easter Bank Holiday weekend.  She's starting her second placement after that.  Hopefully never to return. Though the thought of a new work environment and new colleagues makes her anxious.  She's not hugely looking forward to switching sites either. The traffic is so much worse at the other site and all of her friends are at this one...  One of said friends has just taken on the team leader role for her home department.  She met up with him for coffee.  He's looking well and is slightly cocky as always.  Greats her with the fact that he's managed to get his wife pregnant and that he's about to go on holiday to Africa to see the gorillas.  She has no comparable news and ends up coming across as a crazy cat lady.  Falmouth is no Africa.

She feels insignificant and underwhelmed, unattractive, unfit and unhealthy.  And fat. 

Blaine's head hurts - it's fuzzy and his memories seem jumbled.  He is barely aware of his surroundings as he struggles to clear his vision.  Last he remembers he was talking to Kurt in the alley behind the club.  Kurt saw him at the gig.  He must have blacked out again.  He's in the apartment he shares with Dare.  At least, he thinks he is, but around the edges of his vision he can see other people, desks, computers.  He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed.  Counts to ten slowly.  Opens his eyes.  His vision has cleared slightly and he sits on the sofa then tries to organise his thoughts.  Kurt was so mad at him.  Mainly for not telling him that he had moved to New York.  Not that he really had a right to take it so personally - it's not like they are a couple anymore.  Kurt had made it so very clear that they were 'just friends' before.  But the hurt in Kurt's eyes had betrayed him and secretly Blaine had enjoyed it.  He knew he had looked good that night too - very different from how he'd looked before, yes.  But he also held himself better.  Straighter.  With more purpose and presence.  It had thrown Kurt.  Kurt had grown used to the boy who hung on his every word, who looked at him with puppy dog eyes.  It took him a while, but Blaine had caught Kurt up.  Maybe even overtaken him.  He's so sure of where he wants to be now and who he is.  He's come to terms with himself and he knows that only he is able to make himself happy.  He doesn't need anyone else to complete him.  He's comfortable again. 

But that doesn't explain why seeing Kurt had sent a shock down his spine and his pulse had ramped and that familiar tingle had settled in his stomach.  He's still in love with Kurt physically.  But he doesn't really know him anymore.  He'd been unsurprised to find that he really wanted to get to know him again.  This man that Kurt is becoming.  That he desperately wants – no, _needs_ Kurt to know him again; the way they used to.

Blaine remembers Kurt suggesting meeting up for coffee to talk.  Remembers him constantly changing the subject when it came to talking about Adam.  Remembers the feel of Kurt's eyes taking in every inch, every detail, of his new appearance.  Remembers his reluctance to leave once the initial shock of seeing Blaine at home in New York had dispersed.  Blaine had affected Kurt.  Kurt still felt something.  Blaine needed to know what that was and what it meant.  Had they organised anything?  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his calendar then hurriedly checked the date and time.  Today, in a little over half an hour, he was meeting Kurt at a coffee shop a couple of blocks from Kurt's loft.  He bolts up and checked himself in a mirror - he surprisingly looked ready.  He had not expected that.  He gingerly touched his head - perhaps he'd knocked it?  He couldn't feel any obvious damage.  He filed his concern away for consideration when he had time after meeting back up with Kurt then grabbed his wallet, leather biker jacket, sunglasses and keys. 

 He found the coffee shop with ease - he was only a couple of minutes late but he could already see Kurt waiting through the window.  He smiled softly to himself.  Kurt had dressed up for him.  Confidence boosted he strolled into the store.  Kurt's eyes locked with his and there it was again. That thrill that surged through him.  So familiar.  So exciting.  It felt like a date.  Like a second chance.  He resolved to stop overthinking and went for it.  He broke into what he knew from previous experiences was a smile that was contagious and leant casually on the back of the seat opposite Kurt. 

 'What can I get you?'

He watched Kurt struggle to regain composure as he retrieved his jaw from where it had dropped into his lap when he'd seen Blaine.  Blaine was enjoying this.  He hadn't had this effect on Kurt since Kurt had attended Dalton with him - back before Blaine had realised how he truly felt about Kurt.  Before Blaine had known how to use what he had.  It was like having a second chance.  A second chance when he had the advantage of knowing exactly how he truly felt.  He wasn't going to fumble the ball a second time.

'Um...The usual, thanks.  And ‘Hi’.'  Kurt replied.

So he was testing him.  OK.  He could rise to this challenge.  As if he'd forget Kurt's coffee order.  As if he could forget anything about Kurt.  He winked and turned to place the order for Kurt’s Grande non-fat mocha and his medium drip with the barista behind the counter.  He was very aware that Kurt was appreciating and appraising his every movement.  He knew that the shirt he was wearing clung to his toned torso in all the right places and that his jeans hugged his ass in just the right way.  He took the time in which the barista was making the coffees to peel off his jacket and let it hang from his finger casually over one shoulder.  All the boxing he'd been doing to distract himself from his misery at McKinley was paying off now.  He had never looked better.  That was one thing in his favour.  He'd have to have been blind to notice how Kurt had started to fill out with his, no doubt, hectic and dance intensive training at NYADA.  He'd never been so glad that he hadn't eaten his feelings.  This way he was definitely still in the game. 

The barista handed him the drinks and his number on the receipt.  Blaine hadn’t even noticed the barista check him out.  He couldn't have planned this any better.  He smiled at the barista knowingly then turned and joined Kurt at the table sliding the coffee towards him as he did so and dropping the receipt and a handful of sugar packets onto the table.

'Did that guy just give you his number?'  Kurt asked picking up the receipt, incredulous and oh so irrationally jealous and possessive.

Blaine beamed internally, while casually removing his sunglasses and placing them next to his coffee cup.

'Yeah.'  He replied as if it was something that happened all the time - which recently was actually pretty true.  Especially after gigs.  'But anyway... Hi again, Kurt.  Sorry again for surprising you yesterday.  And for, you know, not telling you when I came to NY.'  He took a sip of his coffee to gauge how much sugar he’d need and unleashed the full force of his eyes on Kurt.  They locked.

'Sorry for exploding at you like that.  I was just surprised.  And a little hurt I guess.  I mean, we're friends.  Friends should know things like that.'  Kurt broke eye contact and concentrated on stirring his coffee.

'I should have given you the heads up.  But that's in the past now and there’s nothing we can do to change the past.  So, what's new with you?  You're looking good, Kurt.  Happy.  It suits you.'   Blaine means every word.  Kurt's eyes drifted back up to meet Blaine's - a faint trace of colour rising in Kurt's cheeks as his complexion betrayed his outwards composure.  Kurt’s fingers idly fiddle with the sugar packets.  Blaine prises off the lid from his cup and tears the top  from one of the sugar packets he’d deftly rescued from Kurt.

'Oh, nothing exciting.  It's the summer break, as you know, so I'm back at Vogue.com.  Isabelle's riding me pretty hard to get this new article finished for the Autumn edition of the Look Book, and…’  Kurt notices Blaine’s snigger as Blaine pours the sugar into his coffee, and frowns.  ‘What?’

‘Nothing.  I’m being childish.  Carry on.’

‘No.  What is it, Blaine?  What?’

‘You said Isabelle was ‘riding’ you ‘pretty hard’ and it made me giggle.  I’m a giant child.  Moving on…. So this article…’  Blaine pops the lid back onto his cup.

Kurt rolls his eyes and smiles.  ‘Some things never change.  And you are definitely never going to be a giant _anything_.’

‘Ouch!  You wound me.’  Blaine makes puppy eyes and plays hurt.  Kurt knows him well enough to know it’s a feint. 

‘You love it really.’  Kurt smiles shyly into his coffee and looks down again, lost in thought.  Blaine sips his drink again and smiles.  He had forgotten how much he’d missed this; the free flowing banter.  The tension, the worry that this would be awkward, it all floods out of him and he relaxes, smiling into his coffee.  He waits for Kurt to restart the conversation when he’s ready to.  He figures Kurt is probably musing along the same lines as he is.  He hopes so anyway.  They sit in companionable silence for a while.  Occasionally catching each other’s eyes and smiling.  Truly smiling.  Blaine feels like he’s glowing.

‘So… Beside breaking the hearts of countless drunken fan-girls and guys in clubs with your dreamy voice and frustrating talent, what have you been up to in the _three months_ you’ve been in _my_ neighbourhood, hmm?’  Kurt’s starting to relax finally and he smiles at Blaine.  ‘Damn it, Blaine.  There’s so much I wanted to show you.  I had it all planned out for when you got here.  So come on, spill.  You owe me, Mr.’

‘Really, it’s pretty much what you just said, except for the heart-breaking bit.  The opportunity arose to come here early, I took it.  Dare showed me around.  We hung out.  Met some cool people.   Dare found out I played guitar and roped me in to gig with him and that’s pretty much what I do now.  It pays the bills and I enjoy it.  Practice is practice, right?’

‘Come _on_ , Blaine.  I know you better than that.  So I’m assuming Dare is the one responsible for your new wardrobe, and may I just say, _damn_ , Blaine.  Look at you.’ 

A wolfish grin spread across Blaine’s features at Kurt’s appreciation, and he looks across at Kurt through his eyelashes.  As they’d been talking they’d both unconsciously closed the distance between them; their hands are so close they were almost touching.  Blaine flicked a finger out to brush Kurt’s hand.  It was like a current passed between them.  He heard Kurt gasp slightly.

                ‘Come on.  Let’s get out of here.  You said you wanted to show me things and you had planned it all out.  Now’s your chance.  Show me.’ 

Kurt took a second to adjust from the moment they’d just shared together to Blaine’s sudden change of direction. 

‘I…I’d love to but…’  He seemed about to turn Blaine’s offer down but then had a change of heart and smiled at Blaine.  ‘Hell…  OK.  Just give me a second I need to cancel something.’  He fished out his phone and quickly started to compose what looked like a text message.

‘Hey, if today’s no good we could call a rain check?’  Blaine offered him the chance to get out of spending the day in his company.  To back out.

‘Don’t be silly!  I haven’t seen you in forever and I’ve missed this, Blaine.’  The ‘ _I’ve missed you_ ’ went unsaid but both acknowledged it was there.  Kurt hit send, then pocketed his phone and stood up to join Blaine.  Kurt was smiling so genuinely that Blaine couldn’t help but return it.  ‘Just one thing - You have to promise that if you’ve already seen some of these places that you haven’t and it’s all new to you, OK?’

‘If it means I get to spend the best part of this fabulous day with the one and only Mr. Kurt Hummel, I’m sure I can promise that I will react to wherever and whatever he would like to show me with the proper due wonder and awe.’  Blaine held out his hand in offer to Kurt.  ‘How’s that?’

 ‘Come on, you goof.’  Kurt said taking Blaine’s proffered hand and leading him out of the coffee shop.  Their grins matching as they fell so comfortably back into step with each other.


	11. Yes/No/Maybe - is all I need to hear from you.  If things go crazy, she's lost herself and lost to you.  Now that nothing’s spoken, she's out there on the ice again - She's breaking down slowly, colliding as she holds your hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Out there on the Ice' – Cut Copy

These time jumps were starting to freak Blaine out. One minute he was somewhere, doing something, and the next he was somewhere completely different, wearing something different, doing something different. It was really disconcerting. It was as if his mind was a light bulb being switched on and off by a remote he had no access to. The weirdest part was that, although initially he'd have no idea what had happened in the interim time between consciousness, after his initial disorientation cleared he would 'remember' the missing pieces. It was as if he'd been told what happened and the information had become memory - like a story. He had no actual sense of having experienced the events but knew what had happened. He tried not to dwell too much on it, because that, combined with the really terrifying flashes of the 'other places' he kept seeing were really starting to concern him that he was losing his mind. He took a deep breath, fighting off the nausea that bubbled up within him, and waited for the 'memories' to fill him in and explain why he was standing in a back-room of a club with his violin and bow in his hands and one of his guitars slung by its strap over his back...  
Fragments started to slot into place filling him in on what had happened between his present 'now' and the last 'now' he remembered - leaving the coffee shop to go on Kurt's New York tour. He was a little relieved to discover that it had been one of the best days of his life, even if he couldn't actually recall it directly. Kurt's genuine smiles at Blaine's feigned surprise when they visited places for the 'first time', Blaine's reassurance that regardless of where they went it was the first time they'd visited them together and hell, he was catching up with his best friend so really they could visit a book shop in Soho for all he cared. The ease with which they had fallen back into their 'friendship' had not really surprised him. He had known for months now that Kurt was his 'missing puzzle piece', his 'endgame' as Finn would say. He wondered whether Kurt had felt it too.   
So much laughter and fun had been had, but then he'd had to leave to change and get his kit because he had to play a gig. Of course! That must be where he was now. It would explain the guitar but not his violin. He looked around attempting to piece together more of the missing time. He could tell from the background noise level that he'd be going on for his second half of his set. He also knew that this was a solo gig as none of Dare's stuff was strewn across the small room that they used as a dressing room / backstage area. He dimly recalled Dare blowing him off to spend more time with the spiky haired cutie he'd met a couple of days ago - Josh? Was that his name? Blaine frowned and glanced up at the small yellowed clock in the dingy corner of the room. He needed to pull himself together. He was probably just really, really over-tired. That would explain it. Wouldn't it?  
He decided to go with it and headed out onto the stage with both guitar and violin. A spark shot through him when he spotted Kurt with Rachel, Santana, and a guy he didn't recognise at a table off to the right of the stage. He donned his game face and grinned, shooting a wink in their direction. He'd put a bet on the colour that flooded Kurt's cheeks being directly related to him right now. He took that as encouragement. He dimly recalled that the last time Rachel had heard him sing was as ‘Teen Angel’ in ‘Grease’ – before that was when he had a not-so-minor breakdown singing 'Teenage Dream' to Kurt at Callbacks. Kurt alone would have an idea of how much had changed - the girls' reactions to his appearance alone told him exactly what he needed to know. Sure they all knew he could play piano, but they didn't know the half of it. He's pretty sure he saw Rachel's eyes bug out of her head and Santana was smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat looking between Kurt, the other guy - Adam? Blaine wondered - and himself. He joined the three other guys on the stage - Ken, Mark and Paul were ready. Ken started tapping out a beat on his kit; Mark gave Blaine a cheesy grin and continued to finish tuning his guitar. Paul played a couple of notes on his bass and nodded to Blaine. He moved closer to his own microphone centre stage between Mark and Paul, violin in hand.  
'So, how is everyone tonight?' He casually asked the amassed crowd below him. 'Having a good time?' He was rewarded by a series of cheers, whistles and drunken shouts. 'Figured we'd mix things up a bit.' He indicated to his electric violin as he plugged it in to the amp behind him. Mark handed him a piece of paper with the scrawled names of people and their song requests. Blaine's eyes flicked over them and selected the first one that piqued his interest. 'Alright, here we go. This one's for Sam from Jarred - happy birthday, Sam! Let's have some Neon Trees - 'Close to you'.' He briefly turned to check the others were ready – the band were a permanent fixture at this joint and backed all the frontline acts the manager booked. Blaine was used to working with them now. All three were at Julliard and the three of them really enjoyed the evenings Blaine was on. Mark raised an eyebrow at the violin.  
'You've been holding out on us B.'   
Blaine shot him a wolfish grin as Ken counted them in.  
The set went really well. The four on the stage were loving it and their energy was contagious. Blaine switched between his guitar, the keyboard and his violin as the songs that were requested required. This evening was progressing perfectly. He finished the last bar of the Matchbox Twenty song he'd been working through letting Ken segue with a fun improv session on his kit while he glossed over the next couple of requests on the list. Most were soppy slow dances. He knew the room needed something a bit more upbeat. A thought struck him and he took the mic once Ken finished.   
'Ken Michaels on the drums, folks.' Blaine led an interim applause. He always made sure the guys' names were out there with his own and they loved him for it. Patty - the manager, always said that they took more on evenings Blaine and the boys played together like this. 'So, I was thinking. Can I do a request? Would that be weird?' The crowd were in hysterics. He played on it. 'What do you guys think? How about some Cut Copy? 'Out there on the Ice'.' He shot a wicked look at Kurt whose eyes had seemingly not left him all night. The girls were up and had been dancing. The guy with them. Perhaps he wasn't the mysterious Adam? From the sadness Blaine detected on his features every time the blonde guy caught Kurt staring at Blaine, he wasn't so sure. It looked a lot like an attempt to mask defeat. Blaine almost felt sorry for the lanky, hipster, beanie wearing bloke. Almost.   
He knows without looking that Mark has ditched his guitar for the keyboard behind them. 'Here we go!' Ken and Mark start the introduction off, then Paul comes in with the bass. Blaine watches as Kurt makes his way onto the dance floor to join his friends. Blaine's transfixed for a moment then he starts singing to Kurt: 'Yes/No/Maybe is all I need to hear from you.' Kurt makes eyes at him as he starts to dance with his small group of friends. Paul fills in the backing vocals and the four on the stage are one. Ken had introduced Blaine to Cut Copy a while ago and the four had jammed together in one of the practice rooms at Julliard for a while. Messing around and making it work without the samples. They had all been thrilled with their version. The crowd are enjoying it though few know the song - it's that time in the evening where it doesn't matter too much - they'll have a great time regardless. Blaine barely notices anything or anyone but Kurt - it's as if there's a spotlight on him alone. The blonde guy he's dancing with is not even on Kurt's radar. This dance is for Blaine alone and they both know it. The song ends and he tosses Kurt a microphone. He barely waits for Kurt to register what he's doing before launching straight into Neon Trees' 'Animal' with a wicked grin. He knows Kurt will immediately remember the last time they sang that song together with the same certainty that he knows Kurt still knows the words and how their duet divides up. He's not disappointed. Like a magnet Kurt makes his way through the crowd, who are eating this twist up, towards Blaine. Blaine extends Kurt a hand and then lifts him up with one arm to join him on the stage.   
The song ends and the crowd cheer. ‘Let’s hear it for my guest duet partner – Mr. Kurt Hummel!’ Blaine’s grinning and Kurt’s laughing and smiling wide enough to almost split his face in half. Kurt’s arm is wrapped around Blaine’s waist, Blaine’s around Kurt’s. Whistles, shouts and screams punctuate the applause. Kurt bows dragging Blaine with him. ‘And a round of applause for your local band – The Back-Ups! With Mr. Ken Michaels on the drums!’ Ken gives a little bow and then a mini drum solo. ‘Mr. Paul Kingsley on the bass guitar!’ Paul follows Ken’s lead and breaks into a funky little bass solo. ‘and Mr. Mark Matthews on the guitar and keyboard!’ Mark dips his head and follows suit with a celebratory guitar riff. Blaine has been applauding the band throughout. Mark gently takes the second microphone from Kurt and steps forwards to sign off.  
‘Thank you ladies and gents. We hope you enjoyed your evening, as always it has been an absolute pleasure to work with him, please join us with a big round of applause for the multi-talented Mr. Blaine Anderson!’ Blaine bows on cue and salutes Mark then turns to collect his instruments and help the guys pack up their kit, when Mark continues. ‘We’ve been talking about this with Patty and we’d like you’re opinion on something.’ Mark’s talking to the audience but looking directly at Blaine. ‘We’d like you to join us as B and the Back-Ups. What do you say, B.?’ The crowd hum with anticipation. Blaine is speechless. Mark turns to the crowd, ‘what do you guys think? Should he join us?’ A chorus of ‘yes’es and whistles and screams drown Mark.  
‘I…I’d love to!’ Blaine stammers out and suddenly he’s being crushed by three sets of arms. ‘Guys…I need…air!’ He manages to gasp out. His eyes flicker to catch Kurt’s.  
‘Whoa, sorry, dude!’ Ken exclaims as he releases Blaine from the crushing power of his bear-like arms.  
‘We’ll see you guys tomorrow night! We wish you a safe journey home!’ Mark finishes as he releases Blaine.   
 


	12. Hold your breath and count to ten, fall apart then start again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'English Summer Rain' – Placebo

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur to Blaine.  He was dimly aware of being whisked into Patty’s office with Mark, Ken and Paul and then going over some contracts which basically guaranteed him work pretty much every evening.  He had no idea how Dare would take this as he’d have to quit the other evening gigs.  Patty had then started talking about recording some of the original songs and arrangements she’d heard him working on and demo-ing during his sets and after a good hour of talking Blaine had finally emerged from the office utterly physically and emotionally exhausted.  The other guys – his band mates! - had packed up and left while Blaine had finished talking over the details with Patty and he was not surprised to find the place pretty empty.  Well, except for Kurt. 

                ‘Kurt!  God, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t expect you to wait for me…’

Kurt immediately placed a finger his lips effectively silencing Blaine.

                ‘Blaine you were amazing tonight.  You’re always amazing but… wow.  I’m not at all surprised those guys wanted you to join them.  Congratulations!’

                ‘Thanks, Kurt.’

                ‘Come on, you.  You must be starving!’  Kurt picked up Blaine’s guitar case and linked arms with him as Blaine picked up his violin case.  ‘Pizza?’

Blaine smiled softly and followed Kurt’s lead.

                He’s not sure how they ended up back at Blaine’s apartment with take-out pizza and champagne – Kurt leading a toast to Blaine, draped over one of the arms of the armchair he’s settled into.  Blaine muses that Kurt looks so at home there.

                ‘Earth to Blaine.’

                ‘Sorry, Kurt.  I guess I’m just still in shock.  My mind’s racing.’

                ‘Hey,’ Kurt said stretching his arm across the gap between his armchair and Blaine’s and taking Blaine’s hand.  ‘What’s up?  You’ve not been with it since we got to that pizza place.’

                ‘I’m just thinking, that’s all.’

                ‘You know how dangerous that is, right?’  Kurt teased, his fingers idly tracing the outlines of Blaine’s fingers and drawing lazy circles on the back of his hand.

Blaine’s eyes suddenly meet Kurt’s for the first time since they were on stage together that evening and Kurt’s leaning in to close the distance between them.

                ‘Kurt.  What is this?’

                ‘What’s what, Blaine?’

                ‘ _This_.’  He gestured to the two of them with his free hand.  ‘Kurt, you can’t tell me that there isn’t something going on here…’

                ‘Blaine, don’t do this now.’

                ‘Do what, Kurt?’

                ‘We were having such a great day – you got a permanent job with a professional band!  You’re going to be recording your songs!  Songs you wrote!  And we explored New York like tourists together and went to the top of the Empire State building and visited the aquarium, had cupcakes from the Magnolia bakery, and took cheesy tourist photos outside the _When Harry Met Sally_ restaurant, and the _Friends_ café...  Please don’t ruin this.  Not now.’  Kurt’s eyes were imploring.

                ‘Ruin what, Kurt?  I don’t even know what this _is_.  Two days ago we were barely talking.  You didn’t even know which state I was in and now suddenly we’re falling right back in step with where we were before you went to New York and it is confusing the hell out of me right now.  I mean, what about Adam?  He was there tonight, that was him wasn’t it?  You brought a date with you and you left with me…’

                _‘Blaine, stop!_ ’  Kurt let go of Blaine’s hand and stood up, his eyes glistening.  ‘I don’t know, OK!  I just don’t know!  You suddenly reappear in my life singing _that song_ and looking like a Greek rock god all charming and confident and so very Blaine…  You’re the love of my life and you’re finally in New York - you’re here!  And I can touch you and smell you and see you, and it’s intoxicating.  You set every nerve in my body on fire.  You’re like a magnet and I can’t see anyone else past you.  I… I really like Adam, Blaine.  But he’s not you.  He’ll never be you.  That’s what I liked so much about him but then with you both in the same room I couldn’t even see him.  He wouldn’t even talk to me after we sang together, you know.  He said five words to me.  Five words: ‘You’ll never be over him.’  Then he left.  I hurt him, Blaine.  I hurt him and part of me doesn’t care because nothing matters but you.  And I hated you so much.  I really wanted to be over you.  I wanted yesterday and today to be a fluke, for it just to be excitement and nerves from catching up with my best friend.  But it wasn’t.  It isn’t.  We’re not just best friends.  We’re not.  I love you…’  Blaine can’t take the pain in Kurt’s eyes anymore or watch his tears fall.  He crashes their lips together and Kurt clings to him like he’s his lifeline.  Blaine holds him until his breathing calms and his heart rate starts to return to normal.  Kurt’s head buried against Blaine’s neck. 

Kurt’s dropped his shields for the first time in what feels like years and he’s letting Blaine back in.  Trusting him not to hurt him again.  Trusting him.  Blaine’s seen Kurt break and Kurt isn’t ready for that yet.  He starts to panic and steps back, away from Blaine and gingerly dries his eyes.  ‘God, I must look like an utter state right now.  It was the champagne talking.  Sorry for being such a drama queen.’  Kurt starts to gather his coat, avoiding Blaine’s eyes as he talks.  Slamming his walls back up.

                ‘Don’t go, Kurt.  Please.’  It’s a plea - almost a whisper of defeat.  Kurt’s eyes lock with Blaine’s and he can’t walk away.  Blaine steps towards Kurt and takes his hand.  Kurt feels his pulse quicken in response - his body betraying him – he’s sure Blaine can hear the hammer of his heart in his chest.  ‘I’m not going to pretend that this will be easy.  I’m not going to lie to you – if we’re going to try _us_ again we have a lot of things we need to talk over.  Things we have to work on.  Like our communication skills.’  A small smile plays over the corner of Kurt’s mouth.  ‘We will fight, and things aren’t always going to go the way we plan.  But I think we’re worth the effort and the pain.  I think that what we had before was really something, but it was sweet, naïve, young and undeveloped and we’re both very different people than we were in high school.  I think what we could have could be something really beautiful and strong.  And I want to give that a chance, Kurt.  I want to give _us_ another chance.  But it’s up to you.  I’m ready - I’ll be here waiting for you for as long as it takes for you to come back to me.  That will never change, Kurt.  I’m not going to push you…’

                ‘What you just said.  I want that…you…all of it.’  Kurt’s eyes are glistening again and Blaine can feel his own moistening in response to those sweet words.  Words he’s been longing to hear from Kurt for months.  Words he feared he would never hear.  ‘I love you.’

                ‘I love you too.’  Blaine’s grinning so inanely and he doesn’t care.  His life has summersaulted in two days and he’s giddy with relief and joy.  

Kurt steps towards him and they’re kissing, their hands frantically exploring each other’s bodies, breathing each other in.  The deep ache in Kurt’s chest lifts and his soul is thrumming.  Kurt leans his forehead against Blaine’s - warm honey eyes meet pools of blue, splashed with familiar green and yellow.  He feels like he’s finally home.  They kiss again.  Slowly and more measured this time.  Kurt runs fingers through Blaine’s curls.

                ‘I really like your hair like this.’

Blaine rolls his eyes and Kurt fists his hand in the tighter curls at the nape of Blaine’s neck.  A soft moan escapes Blaine and encouraged, Kurt grazes the side of his neck with his teeth.  Blaine slides a hand under Kurt’s shirt and his hands reacquaint themselves with Kurt’s perfect skin.  Kurt’s free hand traces the muscles of Blaine’s upper arm and chest he hums in appreciation. 

                ‘It’s not fair you know.’

                ‘What isn’t?’  Blaine asks, confused by Kurt’s change of topic.

                ‘I never stood a chance.’

                ‘I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.’

                ‘You.  Now.  Like this.’   Kurt runs his hand down Blaine’s chest down towards his belt buckle.  Blaine smiles and trails kisses along Kurt’s jaw and down the side of his neck.

                ‘All yours,’ Blaine breathes.

                ‘Mine,’ Kurt agrees as he tugs at Blaine’s shirt and kisses his collarbone.

 

 


	13. Soul mates never die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Sleeping with Ghosts' – Placebo

He woke up blind; vaguely aware he was lay in something sticky and wet.  He fought down a wave of nausea as he tried to sit up. 

 _Don't panic!  Breathe_. 

His neck felt wrong.  Breathing was not usually this hard. 

 _Breathe, dammit!_  

Commands replacing the basic functions his body usually handled without instruction.  He tried breathing shallowly – sipping the air until he felt like he was no longer drowning on land.

He raised a hand to try to clear his vision and blinked a few times in quick succession.  Mild success - everything was red but he could make out shapes.  Why was it so dark?  He tried to sit up again and managed with a little triumph, feeling a flare of pain deep beneath his ribs.  A hot wet pain that unnerved him.  This felt familiar.  He took shallow breaths again in an attempt to avoid passing out.  His mind felt unravelled. 

A stab of clarity - Kurt?  Where was Kurt?  His bowels turned to ice.  He struggled to his feet swallowing down the nausea and the pain - overriding it, ignoring it with every shred of conscious effort he possessed.  He tried to call out but no sound came.  He fell back against what felt like a wall - cold, brick and unyielding.  Had it been raining? His back was wet and cold and he felt his hair matted to his forehead.  Then he noticed his hand was scarlet.  Blood.  What had happened?  He was dimly aware that he was in an alleyway and that he was alone.  Kurt wasn't here.  He desperately tried to recall what had led him to be here.  He tried not to think about the fact that the blood seemed to be his and something was desperately wrong with his left side.  Fortunately the wall behind offered him some support as he shakily checked his pockets for his phone.  Nothing.  A mugging?  His shirt was open and ripped leaving his chest exposed.  His knuckles, wrists and arm joints ached in a familiar way that told him he'd definitely hit something.  Had he been in a fight?  For the second time in as many days (or so he thought) he was thankful for boxing.  At least he hadn't gone down easily.  Breathing as shallowly as he could he tried to walk.  Fire shot through his side as he moved his left hip.  Looks like he wasn't going anywhere.  He tried to call out again.  Nothing. He clutched his right arm across his wrecked frame in an attempt to hold himself together.  He hoped Kurt was all right.  That Kurt had been nowhere near this mess.  He had never been particularly religious - paying lip-service when his parents had demanded his presence at church, but now in desperation he silently prayed to anyone and anything who'd listen. 

 _Let Kurt be safe_.

A siren and footfalls broke his reverie as he slid back down to the ground. 

_Oh thank you.  Thank you._

Concerned faces he knew to be an ambulance crew were trying to keep his attention but he couldn't make a noise in response to any of their questions.  He tried to ask about Kurt.  Why were they only interested in him?  He didn't care about anything but Kurt.  How could he make them understand?  A police officer was taking to one of the paramedics and a name caught his attention.

                '…Hummel.  Yes.  He called it in.  He's over at the hospital.  We had to sedate him.'

Kurt was OK.  Kurt is OK.  Blaine stopped fighting.

 

He had no idea how long he'd been out for.  He had no idea why he was back.  He felt so cold but mercifully numb.  He tried to get up but was aware of a weight on his chest gently keeping him prone.

                'No you don't.'

That voice was musical.  He was definitely in heaven.  He risked opening an eye and was rewarded with a pair of concerned tropical pools.  Kurt looked so tired and pale.  He tried to lift an arm to touch him to make sure he was real but his body responded clumsily as if his limbs were stuffed with lead and straw.  As if he sensed what Blaine was trying to achieve Kurt took Blaine's hand and placed it to his face pressing his lips - those glorious lips - to the back of it.  Kurt's cheek was wet.  Why was Kurt crying?

                'Don't you dare do that to me again.  Ever.  God, Blaine.  I was so scared.  I thought I'd lost you.  Never do that again.'

Blaine tried to comfort Kurt - tried to tell him that it would be OK.  But no sound came. 

                'Shhhh, baby.  Don't try to talk.'  Kurt rubbed his thumb across Blaine's knuckles.  Blaine looked at Kurt questioningly but then there were nurses and fire in his veins and he couldn't think through the fog.

                '...better this way...may be brain damage...better that...put him under again...healing process...' 

                '...ow long will h...' 

                '...out...'

 

                Everything hurt.  Everything.  Breathing, his hair, his teeth, his toes, his skin.  Everything.  He was so thirsty.  His head throbbed.  There was no concept of time.  Just a fuzzy nothingness.  His hand felt warm.  Everything else was so cold.  He focused on the warmth and tried to move towards it.  Something was holding him down.  He let out a silent scream of frustration resulting in nothing but a flare of fire through his left side.  He focused on shallow breathing and on the warmth clutching his right hand like a lifeline.  He focused on trying to move the fingers of his hand.  The warmth around his hand squeezed him lightly.  He felt like he was falling again.  He felt like he was spinning, falling down the rabbit hole.  Falling.  Slipping.  Spinning.

 

He opened his eyes warily.  Something heavy was pinning his right arm.  Kurt.  Pale even in sleep.  He looked so fragile.  Dark circles under his eyes paid testament to how much he needed this release.  This brief respite.  Reverie.  He smiled softly at the sight.  He wanted nothing more than to stroke Kurt's cheek.  To hold him close and to comfort him.  A movement in the corner of his field of vision caught his attention and he looked up.  The doctor walked in and Blaine was furious with her immediately.  Could she not see that Kurt was resting?  He tried to reprimand her in hushed tones but couldn't make a sound.  His frustration burned and he glared at her as if she was the enemy.

                'Mr. Hummel?'  She gently shook Kurt awake, ignoring Blaine.  If looks could kill she would have been murdered twice over.  Kurt's eyes fluttered open and focused on Blaine's. 

                'You're awake...'  Kurt mumbled in wonder.  A faint smile erasing some of the worry etched into his features.  Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand in what he hoped would be a manner that would convey what he wanted to say.  The doctor cleared her throat, but Kurt's eyes never left Blaine's.

                'Mr. Anderson.  Glad to have you back with us.'  Blaine didn't even look at her.  'Don't try to speak.'  That was the last straw - it was bad enough that she had woken Kurt when he so desperately needed sleep, to rest, now she was rubbing salt in his wounds.  Did she think he was mentally impaired in some way?  He had noticed that he couldn't speak.  Blaine unleashed the full scathing power of his eyes on her.  Something almost audibly snapped in Kurt and he spun around to face the doctor.  She seemed oblivious and continued.  A small part of Blaine felt guilty almost immediately - she was only trying to do her job.  He lowered his eyes back to focus on Kurt's features as the doctor picked up the clipboard from the end of Blaine's bed and started rattling off information about his progress.  She wasn't answering any of the questions Blaine had but couldn't ask.  His mind felt loose and unhinged and he couldn't keep up with the list of injuries.  He didn't care about himself.  He just wanted to know what had happened and how he could help Kurt.

                ...extensive bruising... larynx... broken ribs... compound fracture...  bruising... hip... abrasions... stitches... surgery... physiotherapy...

                'How long until he can come home?'  Kurt's clear voice pierced the monotony and fetched Blaine's attention.

                'Well the MRI scans of his brain indicate that there's no permanent damage and there doesn’t appear to be any swelling.  He needs to rest his larynx and we won't know more there until the swelling has gone down.  The physiotherapist will be here in about an hour to talk you both through the rehabilitation and some exercises Mr. Anderson will need to do to get mobility back in his left hip and arm.  Be thankful he's such a strong fighter or you'd be organising his funeral right now.  From the state of the three men the police have picked up it looks like he gave as good as he got.  You're really lucky.'  She smiled and turned to go.  Blaine could see the fury in the set of Kurt's jaw at the 'lucky' comment and took private joy at what he knew would come next.

                'You think he's lucky?!  He almost died.  He may never be able to sing or talk or play an instrument again.  That's his life!'

                'He's alive.'  That stopped Kurt in mid-flow.  Blaine's mind was reeling with the confirmation of his suspicions and he zoned the conversation out as his mind pieced together the new information.  So he'd been attacked.  By three men.  He'd fought them off as well as he could.  That made sense.  How did Kurt fit in?  How'd the paramedics known where to find him?  He needed answers. 

                'You didn't answer my question.  When will I be able to take him home?'

                'That's out of anyone's hands but Blaine's.  If the next couple of days show improvement, physically with the physio - if he's up and moving about then he can go home.  But it's going to be a long road.  He's probably going to need a couple of surgeries on his left arm and shoulder.  Psychologically I have no idea.  We're going to have to play that one by ear.' 

                'Thank you.'  Kurt's voice was quiet.  Resigned.  He looked down at the pale hospital-green bed sheets and refused to meet Blaine's eyes.  Blaine didn't even notice the doctor leave.  Kurt's hand had never left his so he squeezed it effectively bringing Kurt's eyes to meet his.  He cocked his head to the side in what he hoped was a questioning way and tried to communicate his concern for Kurt to Kurt.

                'Stop it, Blaine.  Stop looking at me like I'm the one who is in pain right now.'  The confusion must have been evident in his eyes because Kurt started to cry.  'I'm so sorry, Blaine.'  Blaine had never felt so helpless.  He was suddenly painfully aware of how much he'd been reliant upon his voice before.  He'd never been so grateful that he had such expressive eyes.  But this wouldn't do.  He needed to comfort Kurt besides hand squeezes and vain attempts at telepathy using his eyes.  He needed to tell Kurt that everything would be OK because Kurt was all right and that was all that mattered.  That he'd be OK and not to worry so much about him.  That Kurt needed to get some rest.  Blaine scanned the room for a pen, paper, anything.  Maybe he could write?  The sudden turn of his head caused another wave of nausea.  When it passed he moved with more caution.  He spotted what he wanted and gently moved his good hand from Kurt's to try to reach for them.  Kurt frowned at Blaine's movement and followed where he was looking.  Kurt reached over and retrieved the pen and paper and Blaine gave him what he hoped was a thankful look.  Blaine clenched and unclenched his right hand a couple of times then tried to grip the pen.  The muscles felt tight and sore and he knew that was from the punches he's apparently thrown with success.  He tried not to look at his hand - bruised and split and swollen.  His concentration face combined with his first attempted message:

Hi, Kurt!  :)

 returned a smile, albeit briefly, to Kurt's face and Blaine's heart skipped.

                'Hi.'  Kurt breathed.

                How's it going?  Kurt looked at him like he was insane.  You look like hell.  Kurt broke and his laughter was music to Blaine.  Kurt was going to be OK.

                'You are insane.'  Blaine smiled then flinched as he felt the side of his mouth split a little.  He'd obviously taken a bit of punishment to his face.  He wondered for a brief moment how bad he looked right now.  His attention was brought back when Kurt took a breath.  'Why did you do that, Blaine?'  Blaine frowned slightly.

          Do what?

                'How much do you remember?'

          Fragments.  It's really frustrating.  We were talking.  Then we were kissing. 

He paused and looked over to Kurt for a moment then continued.

          Then I was lying on the floor in an alley.  Then this.

                Kurt signed.  'Nothing else?'

          Nope.  Care to fill me in?  I'd rather the facts than the story my mind is making up right now.

                'Um... After we... kissed.  I kind of freaked out at you.  I said some stuff I'm not proud of and I'm kind of glad you don't remember.  Then I left.  You came after me and I'm so grateful and angry that you did.'  A silent tear traced its way down his alabaster cheek.  Blaine brushed it away lightly and Kurt caught his hand his eyes flickering back to lock with Blaine's as he took a shaky breath and continued.  'Um... I think they must have seen me grab you and push you against that wall.  Things got... heated.  I needed you so badly.  I'd missed you so much and I thought moving on... trying to move on... would make it hurt less and it worked for a while and then you were there on that stage singing and the rest of the world fell away and I couldn't take it, Blaine.  And you were so damn polite and nice to me after everything I'd blamed you for and said to you in your apartment and I...  You noticed them before I did.  I didn't know what you meant when you told me to run.  To get help.  I thought you'd lost your mind.  Then I heard them.  The things they said.  They... weren't interested in mugging us.  They'd singled us out because I'd kissed you and I'd been all over you...  It's all my fault.'  Blaine let Kurt break for a minute and rubbed small circles over Kurt's back trying to comfort and desperately trying to communicate that he didn't blame Kurt at all.  For anything and that he was just so beyond glad Kurt was OK.  Kurt eventually calmed enough to continue.  Kurt took a deep breath.  'You t...told me to run.  When I saw them I thought about staying with you.  You seemed so calm and it scared me more than they did.  You didn't even move from where you were leant against the wall.  Just calmly spoke to them.

 

''Good evening, lads.  How can I help you?  My friend here was just leaving.  Good night, Kurt.'  You didn't even look at me and I was terrified.  But I couldn't move.  They kept walking towards you and I swear if you smoked you'd have lit up or something.  You were totally channelling James Dean.'  Blaine huffed what would have been a laugh.  Kurt looked back down at his hands which were worrying the edge of the bed sheet.  'I...um...One of them got so close to you I thought he was going to try to kiss you.  He leant a hand either side of your head - I thought you were trapped.'

 

A scent memory flooded back to Blaine.  Stale beer and grease and acrid cigarettes.  He'd been able to see every pore on the man's face, every hair, every line, every wrinkle. 

 

'You didn't even flinch when he punched the wall next to your head.  You were so calm.  Like you'd been threatened like this so regularly it was nothing.  Like you knew exactly what you were doing... He...he tried to touch you.  He put his hand on your cheek and...I...I hadn't noticed the other one circle behind me until he was touching me.  His hand grabbed my... I must have screamed or something because suddenly you were there and the guy who had been pinning you was staring dumbly at the wall where you'd been and you were between me and the other man.

 

''I'm not certain what you gentlemen think is going to happen here but it is not going to involve Kurt.'  They'd laughed at that.  You'd smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes.  'Kurt - I thought you had somewhere to be.  Rachel will be wondering where you are.'  I was rooted to the spot until you shoved me gently.  I stumbled a little but I couldn't leave you.  All three of them were so close now and then one of them shoved you.  The one in red.  You looked at me and that's when I ran because I knew you couldn't take all of them and that you'd need help and I heard this sick crunch and what sounded like an animal screaming and I couldn't see because I think I was crying.  I'm so pathetic.  You were... they... and I was running away crying like a child...'

 

Blaine frowned and squeezed Kurt gently with his good arm.  Kurt coughed lightly and took a deep breath.  Pulling himself together enough to try to continue.  Blaine gave him a look that he hoped communicated that he didn't think Kurt was pathetic or a coward, and that he was sorry, so sorry for making Kurt relive this.  Kurt swallowed. 

'I...uh.  I managed to flag down a cop car - I'd just run into the road in hysterics and they'd almost run me down.  But they seemed so concerned by me.  I tried to get them to go straight to help you but they were on their radios calling for back up and an ambulance for me and I full on lost it.  I tried to run back towards where I'd left you but one of them grabbed me and I think they have grounds to do me for assaulting an officer because I think I hit one of them, but...  Then there were sirens everywhere.  So much noise and I was in an ambulance and they'd given me something and I suddenly had no energy.  They'd strapped me to one of those little beds and put an oxygen mask over my face and I couldn't get to you.  I couldn't...'

 

Blaine nodded.  He dimly recalled the sirens.  It was starting to come back to him.  His head was aching now.  He was struggling to stay conscious because Kurt needed him here.  He held him close with his good arm as Kurt shook and sobbed into his shoulder.  He recalled the first blow - he'd blocked it and returned it.  The guy he'd hit had yowled in rage and surprise and, Blaine knew darkly - pain.  That had triggered something in one of the others who had been about to chase after Kurt and instead threw a punch at Blaine's head.  He'd ducked and sent a punch in return that had connected solidly with the man's lower chest knocking the air from his lungs.  For a moment he'd actually thought he may have been about to walk away from this one.  Then the third guy had grabbed him from behind allowing the first man who had recovered to punch him viciously in the face.  Blaine had felt the spurt of blood which he knew meant his nose had broken.  Blaine had barely heard the crunch over the buzzing in his ears. 

                'Watch his face!  He's pretty this one.  Aren't you pretty boy?'

Blaine had sunk to his knees panting through his mouth.  He spat blood onto the floor.

                'He's gagging for it.  Look!'

He only hoped he'd bought Kurt enough time.  He bucked and wriggled and struggled against the vice-like grip.  No hope there. 

 _Stop it.  Buy Kurt more time.  Fight.  Get up!_  

He willed himself on.  For Kurt.  He'd been hauled to his feet and he'd thrown his head backwards and managed to connect skulls with the guy who'd been holding him.  He knew one advantage he had was his smaller frame and his speed.  These three were that ex-jock-meets-real-world-bad-food-and-beer build.  Tall, broad and slow.  He'd tried to run back down the alley in the opposite direction to the way Kurt had gone, past the other guy. He had missed the second one pick up that plank of wood.  He didn't miss the way it had connected with his left hip.  He had felt something crunch.  He'd reeled into the wall.  Tried to recover - to keep running, but searing pain when he tried to put weight on it ruled the flight option out.  That had left him with fight.  He'd turned just in time to dodge a second blow aimed at his head which instead connected with his left shoulder.  His heart and mind were racing and he couldn't feel anything anymore.  He'd kicked out with his bad leg knowing he'd never be able to support himself on it anyway and felt something solid recoil.  Then the third one was back.  He blocked the sloppy punch and returned one, but then the first one was back and he was being pushed back against the damp bricks of the wall behind him.  His head bounced with a sickening thwack against the bricks.  He felt something warm drip down his neck.  He'd struggled against the two holding him.  The third had grinned stupidly - the area around his eye already darkening. 

                'You're going to regret that, pretty boy.  Hold him tight this time.  He's a wriggler.'

He'd tried to call out, to bite, to scratch, and had been rewarded by a sharp back-hand across his face.  Then a flurry of punches to his torso - he heard another crack that must have been his ribs.  He must have blacked out from the pain.

 

He'd remembered the last time he'd been in a fight.  Recalled the slurs, recalled the feel of fists and feet against him.  He'd taken up boxing so he'd be ready if it had happened again.  He'd been so stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.

 

He was on his back and there was a pressure on his throat - a booted foot, he realised dimly.  He couldn't breathe.  Couldn't.  Breathe.  He felt his shirt tear open, felt lips hot and sloppy against his skin.  He squirmed.  His arms and legs were pinned.  Realisation dawned on him…  He pushed the thought to the side.  He had no idea how long this had been going on - it felt like seconds and hours.  He hoped Kurt had made it to safety.  He needed Kurt to have made it.  He felt nails scrape down his body, felt clumsy hands tug at his belt and his jeans.  At least the men were distracted and not going after Kurt.  He was dimly aware of glass or something sharp slicing and digging into his back.  He felt hot breath and tongue and teeth.  Sucking.  Biting.  He removed his mind from his body.  Concentrated on keeping as still as possible.  Maybe they'd do what they were going to do then leave him alone and he could find Kurt and make sure that he was OK.  He vacated his mind.  He wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of watching him struggle.  He felt the weight on his arms shift.  Something in his shoulder tore.  He heard a faint screaming sound competing with the roaring in his ears.  Sirens?  Kurt!

Suddenly the pressure was gone and he tried to breathe but something was wrong.  His lungs were struggling for air but not enough was coming.  Not enough.  His vision went red then white then black.  Black.  Black.

 

                He wasn't sure when he'd drifted off - whether it had been the medication or whether he had actually passed out from exhaustion.  Things were clearer this time though.  His eyes flickered over to where Kurt had been.  The chair was empty.  Blaine felt something drop in his chest and scanned the room, straining to see through the window down the hall.  Kurt had gone.  Part of him was relieved.  Kurt needed to go.  To rest.  To get over this. 

He realised he was thirsty and reached for a cup on the little table next to him.  He was mildly impressed that he didn't knock it over.  However, as he opened his mouth he realised he probably wouldn't be able to swallow normally.  He took a tentative sip and winced as the tiny amount of liquid passed crushed and swollen tissue.  The sounds of footsteps caught his attention and he glanced up.  A man entered his room and Blaine felt himself flinch.  He was mildly surprised by his physical reaction. 

                'Hi, Mr. Anderson.  I'm Dean and I'll be helping you regain mobility in that hip of yours.'  Blaine raised his eyebrows and smiled lightly.  The man smiled and walked over picking up Blaine's file humming softly.  Seemingly satisfied he returned the folder then walked around to move the small table out of the way.  'Mr. Anderson, I'd like you to try to sit up for me.'  Blaine frowned slightly at the formality - Mr. Anderson was his father or his brother.  Not him.  Dean smiled genuinely in encouragement.  Blaine fought a wave of frustration knowing there was no point in even trying to correct Dean then slowly and gingerly sat up as straight as he could. 

                'That's great.  Now I'm going to touch your good shoulder and help you swing around so you're facing me.  Is that OK?'  Blaine tried to swallow.  Winced.  Then nodded gently.  Dean took that as permission and gently helped Blaine rotate to face him.  The look of concern in Dean's eyes as he treated him like precious china made Blaine smile _.  You're not going to break me._   He wanted to joke _.  I don't break that easily._   Dean's eyes - green and compassionate - met his and he seemed to understand somehow. 

                'Right.  I'm going to see how much mobility you have in your left side.  Starting with your shoulder.  I'm not going to lie - it'll probably hurt like a bitch.'  He winked at Blaine.  'But if it gets too much I want you to tap me on the shoulder with your right hand, OK?'  Blaine nodded slightly and let Dean do his job letting his mind wander.  His thoughts were punctuated by pain but he distanced himself as much as he could from it.  Only hissing when he was first made to put weight through his left leg.  He needed to get out of here.  Away from the pitting looks.  

He recalled writing down everything he could remember for a police officer at some point - Davies, Davis, David?  Recalled that they had the men they believed responsible and that he'd need to identify them when he was able to.  Right now he just wanted to get out of here.  Out of the horrible hospital gowns.  Out of hospital.

 

                He was mildly surprised when Dare and Cooper appeared.  He was certain the shock had registered on his face but both had ignored him.  He raised his right hand in greeting. 

                'Hiya, Squirt!  Dare leaves you alone for 5 minutes and you wind up here!  What the hell?'  Blaine could see the worry behind Cooper's jovial banter.  He grabbed his pen and paper.  Cooper stopped him with a hug.  'Mom's been going crazy, you know.  She was going to get on the next flight over here but I was due to audition for a commercial next week anyway so I said I'd come check you out.  Dad's furious...'  Blaine was aware that Dare hadn't said a word and was hovering by the door.  Their eyes locked and Dare walked out.  Blaine struggled under his brother and scrawled

                Is Dare OK?  Cooper blinked at him. 

                'Really?  That's what you ask?  Not about my audition.’  Blaine glared at him.  ‘Yeah, he's fine.  Just feeling guilty.  Seems to think this wouldn't have happened if he'd had your back like he was supposed to rather than playing house with some dude he met in a club.  I’m not inclined to disagree.'  Blaine frowned. 

          It's not his fault, Coop.

                'No, it's not.  It's not yours either so stop thinking that now.  I can read you like a book.'  Blaine rolled his eyes.

          I know it's not my fault.

                'Good.  So, what's new?'  Blaine punched his brother in the arm lightly.  'Kidding!  Um...I was talking to Kurt about what happened...'  Blaine interrupted him.  Scribbling frantically.

          Where's Kurt?  Is he OK?

                'Yeah, he's fine.  He's down at the police station identifying those...'  Cooper couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.  'He'll be back later.  I told him to go home and sleep but he gave me a look that made my gut freeze so I chose not to argue with him.  What is it with you and defending your boyfriends against homophobic jerks, Blaine? That's twice now.  Three times if you count that time you took that rock salt slushie to the eye for Kurt.  It's not a good hobby.'  Blaine didn't correct him; he was too focused on the information that Kurt hadn't abandoned him.  Kurt would be back later.  He'd see Kurt today.  Blaine was aware he was smiling like a dork but he didn't care.  'So... I spoke to your doctor and she is hot.  Like mega hot.'  Blaine rolled his eyes.  'Yeah, so, she reckons you could go home tomorrow.  She's pleased with how physio is going.  You'll have to come back for physio every day for a bit and you'll have to use crutches and try not to do too much but that's good right?  I've spoken to Dad - I'm moving in with you for a bit.'  Blaine frowned at that.  'Come on now.  It'll be fun.'

          For you.

                'Look, Blaine. When Kurt called me... when he told me what had happened.  That it had happened again.  I wasn't there for you last time and there's no way I'm leaving you alone with this.'

                'He wouldn't be on his own.'  Blaine had no idea how long Kurt had been standing there in the doorway. 

                'Kurt, hey.  How'd it go down at the station?'

                'It was... tough.'  Blaine studied Kurt's face, his posture.  Reading him.  He could feel the exhaustion - mental and physical - pouring off him and he was filled with the sudden urge to hold him.  He shook it off and tried to focus on the conversation between Kurt and his brother.

                'I've made arrangements, Cooper.  It's my fault and I'm going to step up.'

                It's NOT your fault, Kurt!  Kurt ignored Blaine's furious glare.

                'There's no discussion here.  OK?  I'm moving in with Blaine, and Dare’s going to stay with Josh.  Rachel and Santana have each other and they'll manage the rent at the loft together so matter closed.'

                'He's my baby brother, Kurt.  You may have been his boyfriend but where've you been for the last half a year?  He was a mess when you left.  Yes he cheated on you.  Boo freaking hoo.  Do you see how ridiculous this denial you have going on is?  You're in love with him.  You've always been in love with him and he is in love with you.  So in love with you he fought off three grown men so you'd be able to run away.  Are you really going to keep in the friend zone here?  Because, frankly, this 'just friends' thing has gone on long enough and he doesn't need your uncertainty and angst.  He can't focus on getting better himself with you like this, Kurt.'  Kurt was shaking with anger.  Blaine was staring hard at a suddenly very interesting loose thread on the blanket covering his lap.  He was so painfully aware of Kurt.  How Kurt blinked like he'd been slapped.  Blaine wanted to stop Cooper but he knew his brother was right.  Kurt shifted his weight as if he was going to flee.  To run.  But he walked over towards Cooper.

                'You're right.  I'm not proud of what I did.  But regardless... he is my best friend and it's my fault he's here.'  Blaine's pretty sure he growled at that.  It was so easy for them to talk about him like he wasn't even there just because he couldn't converse normally with them.  He held up the last note he'd written after underlining and emphasising the 'not' furiously.

                It's **NOT** your fault, Kurt!   Blaine glared at Cooper when he went to retaliate.  Look, I know you care, but I need to think. Please.  He meant it for both of them.  I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.  I have friends who would be more than happy to run me to my appointments, so just stop.  Both of you.  

His brain felt like it was full of fireflies.  He raised his hand to rub his temples and closed his eyes.  He felt rather than saw the looks Cooper and Kurt exchanged then heard them both stand and leave.  Probably to take their discussion outside.  He let the relative silence blanket him.  He cleared his mind and then went back over what he knew.  He knew he was broken, physically.  He could recover.  It would take a while but he could recover. 

  * There was no permanent damage to his shoulder or his hip - after surgery he'd heal. 
  * His broken ribs were already mending so that was another thing that didn't need his attention. 
  * His voice...  The crushing damage was serious.  He knew that.  He also knew that all he could do was rest and wait for the swelling to go down.  Only time would tell there. 



He scribbled a note to ask whether the band and his manager had been notified. 

He took as deep a breath as he could manage to help clear his mind.  He let the new information flood over him - Cooper was back. 

  * His brother.  They'd been mending their relationship and Cooper had been trying.  He was grateful that Cooper had stopped his parents flying over to see him.  He wasn't sure he could cope with looking at the vindicated look on his Father's face, or whether he could deal with his mother's fussing over him like he was a child right now. 



He made a note to thank Cooper again.  He definitely did not want his brother around while he was healing though.  Especially while he couldn't talk.  Cooper could talk for America and even when he'd been able to tell him to shut it Cooper had done his head in.  That left one other thing before he allowed himself to think more on the subject of his voice or lack thereof and of what had actually happened to him.

  * Kurt.  Now was not the time to be discussing their relationship - partly due to the one-sidedness of the conversation, but mainly because of the emotional wreck Kurt was right now. 



Blaine frowned.  Kurt was all over the place and part of him wanted to help Kurt sort his head out but he needed to put himself first for a change.  He couldn't focus on himself if he was looking after Kurt.  Cooper was right.  Blaine shuddered a little at the thought.  He'd leave Kurt's offer on the table for today.  He'd let the two men he loved most in the world calm down. 

  * Sam - he'd be worried sick if he knew.  He scrawled a note to contact him somehow.  He could do with talking to a friend who was emotionally distanced from this mess his life had descended back into.



Blaine flinched as he took another calming breath.  It hit him again how much he relied upon his voice – he used to think nothing of picking up his phone and calling someone.  He couldn’t even do that anymore.  E-mail and chat would have to do for now.  Which led him to the main event:

  * His voice.  His voice was his everything - his whole career depended on it.  He had no back-up plan for this kind of scenario.  He knew he had no control over whether or not he regained his voice.  He also knew that the likelihood of him being able to sing like he could before was also gone.  There had been a lot of damage. 



He'd cross that bridge when he had to.  Right now he could be concerning himself for no real reason.  Maybe he'd make a miraculous recovery and he'd be singing again and doing what he loved in no time.  He laughed bitterly but it came out like a weasy huff.    He knew he had a tendency towards self-pity so he tried to find a positive like Ms. Pillsburry had suggested back when he’d seen her at Tina’s insistence after The Break Up. 

Worst case - worst case, he still had use of his limbs.  He could play instruments.  He could still make music.  His voice for Kurt’s life.  He was OK with that.  He smiled slightly.  It kind of reminded him of a twisted version of _The Little Mermaid_.  He huffed out another laugh.  He was going to be OK.

He stretched his arms out and caught sight of a sickeningly purple and yellow mark on his arm and his stomach responded violently.  That was a love-bite.  He was overcome with a sudden desperate need to shower.  To scrub himself all over with scalding water until he was pink and raw.  To remove all trace of his attacker’s saliva, to remove all trace of that man.  He fought a wave of vertigo as he tried to swivel out of the bed like Dean had taught him.  He gingerly placed both feet on the floor - barely feeling the chill through his bare feet.  He reached for the walker Dean had left and slowly, slowly made his way to the small bathroom.  Shutting and locking the door behind him he leant heavily against the wall as he pulled off the hospital gown.  He couldn’t stop shaking as he turned the shower on and up to the maximum heat and, avoiding looking at any part of himself, and lowered himself into the seat.  He couldn't feel the water stinging his skin.  Couldn't feel the small cuts left by the ground and the glass and the wall as the water hammered them.  Couldn't feel his tears.  Couldn't feel anything.

 

                He couldn't remember going home.  He looked around.  He was in his own bed.  In his own pyjamas.  He blushed a little at the thought of his brother helping him change or, god forbid, changing him.  He heard someone in the kitchen.  Without thinking he went to call out and was rewarded by the weasy sound of almost-silence.  He frowned mentally berating himself and pulled himself out of the bed reaching for his crutches.  Gingerly he lifted up his top and saw the blotches, marks and bruises that peppered his skin.  He shuddered and choked back the bile that rose in his throat.  His eye caught his reflection in the glass of one of the photo frames on his bedside table - his face was a series of purple, yellow and black mottling.  His nose was taped - he had been right then - it had been broken.  His hair hung damply against his forehead.  He cringed.  A clatter in the kitchen piqued his curiosity and he made his way slowly out of his room in the direction of the noise.

He hadn't been prepared to see Kurt making pancakes wearing _his_ dressing gown.  The scene was ridiculously domestic.  Kurt turned and almost dropped the pan in shock - a little scream escaping as he jumped.  Blaine laughed silently.

                'God, Blaine!  I didn't expect you to be up!  I need to get you a bell or something.'

Blaine huffed his silent laugh and Kurt glared at him good naturedly.  Knowing Kurt he really would get him a bell.  Blaine made his way slowly to a chair by the table and gingerly lowered himself into it propping his crutches against the wall behind.  Kurt put down the pan and had rushed to help him but he'd gently shooed him away with a look that said _I can do this_ in no uncertain terms.  Blaine raised an eyebrow when Kurt turned to look at him again with a plate full of pancakes.  He placed the plate in front of Blaine and then grabbed something from the side next to the stove.  It was a mini whiteboard and a drywipe marker pen. 

                'I got the idea from that episode of Buffy - the one with the Gentlemen.'  Kurt explained as he passed the items to Blaine.  Blaine grimaced at the mention of the Gentlemen.  'I know - they freak me out too!'  Kurt understood.  It disturbed him a little how much Kurt understood him without him having to talk.  He filed that thought away for later.

          Thank you.

                'You're welcome.  Now eat up before they go cold!'  Kurt pulled up a chair and pulled a couple of pancakes from the stack onto his own plate watching Blaine from the corner of his eye.

          Kurt.

                'Yes, Blaine?'

                This is awkward, but I think I'm having memory lapses or something.  I don't remember anything about how we \- he froze and rubbed out the word - I got home.

                Kurt looked at him with concern.  'Doctor Reid mentioned something about brain trauma but your last MRI looked clear.  I thought you remembered everything now.  Has this happened before?'  Blaine was grateful Kurt hadn't drawn attention to his little 'we' 'I' slip.

           Yes.  Before. 

                'What do you mean?  Back in the hospital?'

          No.  Before.

                'Before...  How long has this been going on for?  Did you hit your head or something?  You didn't do any drugs or...'  Blaine grabbed one of Kurt's hands and underlined the word **No**.  Kurt looked at him and raised a hand to check his temperature.  Blaine raised an eyebrow at the gesture.  'You should have said something, Blaine.  That's not normal.  It could be something serious.'

          My MRI was clean though, right?  So can't be serious.

                Kurt was silent.  Lost in thought.

          Where's Coop?

                'He's staying with us.'  Blaine's eyebrows raised at the 'us'.  Kurt ignored it.  'He's out getting some food for this completely and shamefully under-stocked kitchen.'  Blaine huffed a laugh.  'It's a crime, Blaine.'  Blaine took a bite of his pancake and smiled as Kurt continued.  'He and I came to an agreement.  We've been sharing taking you to your appointments.  Cooper's interview is tomorrow.  After that...'  Blaine frowned.  How much time had passed?  ‘What?'  Blaine shook his head and gestured for Kurt to continue.  'After his interview Cooper is due back in LA so I'm trying to convince him that he can go guilt-free to point at things somewhere that is far away to his heart's content.'  Blaine nodded smiling slightly at Kurt's gentle ribbing of his brother.

          OK.  What then?

                'You rest and I look after your every whim?'

          As interesting a proposition as that is...  I really don't need looking after, Kurt.  I'm a big boy.  I can look after myself.

                'Who exactly are you trying to convince here?'  Blaine made a small humph noise and went to stand up.  'What is it?'

          Coffee?

                'No, honey.  No coffee.  No hot drinks.  They're bad for your throat, remember?'  Blaine's features must have given his utter confusion away.  'You really don't remember do you?  We discussed this.  The specialist your father sent you to gave you a list of what you could eat and drink and some exercises for your throat.'  Blaine gave Kurt a blank look.  'OK.  Blaine I'm taking you to the hospital right now.  You're scaring me.'  Blaine let Kurt lead him back to his room...wait... Cooper had been staying too - he presumed in Dare's room so that must mean... Blaine properly looked at his room.  Kurt's things were mixed in with his.  This was _their_ room.  A light-headedness kicked Blaine and he couldn't breathe.  Kurt looked at him with such concern it actually hurt.  'What is it?'  Blaine closed his eyes in frustration.  Racking his brain for answers to the missing pieces of this giant puzzle in front of him.  He felt Kurt help him to sit on the bed and start to help him out of his top.  He flipped at that.  Kurt looked at him in shock.  'Blaine, we've been over this.  You're scaring me.  I've seen what that...that monster did to you, baby.  I know you hate it.  I know you feel dirty.  You're not.  I love you, Blaine.  Look at me, please, look at me, baby.'  Blaine's mind was racing to catch up and he felt sick.  He raised his eyes and looked at Kurt and the worry and pain on his beautiful face struck Blaine and he lifted a hand to cup Kurt's cheek.  'I love you, Blaine.'  It killed him that he could not return the sentiment.  It physically hurt him.  Kurt must have seen it in his eyes because his lips were suddenly locked with Blaine's.  Blaine kissed him back pulling Kurt down back onto the bed, _their_ bed, with him ignoring the stab of pain through his left hip.  Pulling aside his dressing gown he fisted his good hand into the back of Kurt's shirt – No, Blaine corrected himself - it was his shirt.  He had no idea what had happened but Kurt was living with him.  Kurt was living with him.  And wearing his clothes.

 

                Blaine was cuddled up next to Kurt.  He felt like he'd regressed two years.  His hands shook slightly as he reached for his mini whiteboard and the pen.  Kurt shifted slightly to let him reach further.  Blaine took as deep a breath as he could manage to calm himself.  This was probably going to lead to an argument that would be pretty one sided but he needed to know.  He couldn't remember and he needed to know.

          Kurt.

Kurt laughed lightly. 

                'You know you don't need to write my name.  There's just you and me here.'  Blaine would have stuck his tongue out if he hadn't been so nervous.  Kurt seemed to pick up on his body language and waited.

          This isn't because of what happened to me is it?

                'What isn't?'  Blaine's hand shook as he wiped away the previous sentence.

          Us.  This.  You moving in with me.

                'Really, Blaine?  You think I'm with you out of guilt?'  Blaine hung his head slightly.  He hated everything about himself physically right now.  He'd never felt so utterly unattractive as he did right now.  His body shouting out about his assault.  About how another man had marked him as his property. 

'Blaine, look at me.  How many times do I have to tell you?  I love you.  I have no idea how I thought I'd be OK without you because frankly, I wasn't.  You're it for me.  As soon as you reappeared in my life I knew what I had to do.  You don't regret this do you?'

          God, Kurt, no.

                'What's wrong?  Blaine sighed.  His frustration blatant.  Kurt shifted so he was sitting facing Blaine on the couch.  'You are so beautiful.'  Blaine frowned at Kurt and rolled his eyes.  Kurt growled softly at that and kissed Blaine on the lips.  He gently, so gently, pushed Blaine against the back of the sofa and went to kiss his neck.  Blaine reacted physically thrashing out at Kurt.  'Hey, hey, honey.  God, Blaine, I forgot.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Shhhh.'  Kurt reached for him.  Blaine panted silently.  Fighting back the waves of panic that had shot through his system as it unconsciously recalled the last time he'd been shoved and pinned against something.  His throat felt like it was closing up from the weight of a full grown man standing on him.  He forced himself to look.  To really look.  The men weren't there.  It was only Kurt.  Just Kurt.  Blaine whimpered slightly and fell forward, burying his face into Kurt's neck.  Fighting past his anxiety he kissed Kurt.  Kissed his neck, his jaw, gently sucking his earlobe remembering without having to try what made Kurt moan, what makes Kurt unravel.  Kurt groaned against him and tentatively allowed his hands to run softly across Blaine's back.  Blaine locked eyes with Kurt, imploring.  'Stop apologising, Blaine.  I should have remembered.  I'm stupid.  Sorry, baby.'  Blaine kissed the apology from Kurt's mouth.  They moaned into each other and Blaine rolled so Kurt was dragged on top of him again.  'Is this OK?'  The frown faded from Kurt's features as Blaine attacked his lips hungrily.  Breathing Kurt in.  _His_ Kurt.  Somehow he'd done something right.  He had been given another chance.  Another chance to love this glorious man after he'd hurt him so badly.  He'd sacrifice talking, singing for this.  He sighed at the sight before him as Kurt allowed Blaine to pull his shirt over his head.  Blaine traced his fingers over Kurt's torso, exploring the new definition under the skin.  He rose up to meet Kurt's skin and worshipped every inch of it with his tongue and lips.  Kurt was making sinful noises that were going straight to Blaine's crotch.  Blaine's fingers toyed with the waistband of Kurt's wickedly tight jeans.  Kurt's hands fluttered over Blaine's clothed chest and then hoisted Blaine into a sitting position.  Blaine took the opportunity to kiss Kurt's throat.  Kurt tugged wordlessly at the hem of Blaine's shirt.  Blaine froze.  He swallowed and nodded slowly. 

 _This is Kurt.  This is Kurt._  

A chant as Kurt gently stripped Blaine's shirt off.  Blaine closed his eyes not wanting to see the disgust he was sure would be marring Kurt's face, he was surprised Kurt could even look at him clothed at the moment let alone look at him laid bare.  His muscles ached from being held so tight.  He realised he hadn't been breathing when he felt lips on his collarbone.  Blaine’s eyes fluttered open.  Kurt was kissing his chest.  His lips closing over each mark, each bruise and sucking.  Kurt was reclaiming him.  Blaine moaned and tried to kiss Kurt, but Kurt firmly held him down and continued.  So slowly.  Running his tongue and lips over each inch of skin.  Exploring.  Loving him, accepting him.  Blaine closed his eyes tightly.  He'd never wanted to tell someone he loved them more than he needed to tell Kurt right now.  Instead he did the only thing he could and let go.  Let go of the horrible memories.  Let go of the days, months, years before.  There was only Kurt and now.  It took all his strength and he was sure he'd set his physio back by at least two weeks – Dean was going to be pissed at him – to roll them both so he was back on top.  He kissed Kurt hungrily needing to show him how much he loved him.  How much he meant to him.  He hadn't realised he was crying until Kurt traced a tear with a soft finger.  Cupped his cheek and kissed the tears away. 

'I love you too.'


	14. Sit talking up all night, saying things we haven't for a while. We're smiling but we're close to tears even after all these years we just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'For the First Time' – The Script

The time skips were getting worse and living with Kurt was making Blaine more aware of them.  His one comfort was that at least time was progressing linearly and was not jumping around forwards and backwards.  He wasn’t sure that he’d be able to deal with that on top of everything else.  He’d tried keeping a diary hoping that when time skipped it would fill in and give him something to go off – but nothing.  Whatever happened during the time skips he didn’t appear to fill in his diary without conscious effort so he’d given up. 

His appointments with the Otolaryngologyist (throat specialist) were going well and he was getting used to the breathy, rough, alien voice that was ‘his’.  He preferred to stay mute than use it – telling himself he was ‘resting’ his voice to give it the best chance of recovering some semblance of normality.  Kurt had tried to encourage him to talk to him but Blaine flat out refused.

Kurt had stopped playing any music with lyrics in the apartment and had stopped consciously singing in the shower.  Blaine was grateful in a way – he desperately missed singing, but he took it upon himself to make sure that Kurt’s favourite music was on when he came home from work at Vogue.com – mainly show tunes.  He filled his time furiously practicing and composing with his guitar or violin.  After finding out about Blaine’s true proficiency with guitar, violin and piano, Kurt had probed and found out that Blaine could play many, many more instruments.  After a conversation with Blaine’s mother he’d had some more of Blaine’s instruments shipped to New York (cello and keyboard to start with).  Consequentially the room that had been Dare’s was now a fusion of Kurt’s wardrobe/dressing room and Blaine’s music room.  Blaine had become a perfectionist and would no longer tolerate any imperfections in his playing.  His therapist told him he was compensating.  Blaine had stopped seeing the therapist. 

Blaine had taken to wearing scarves all the time, hugely self-conscious initially of the distortion and bruising to his throat, but then once the swelling had gone down and the bruising had faded he still preferred to hide his neck.  Kurt had tried to convince him he didn’t need to hide without any success.  He had managed to get Blaine to start taking care of his appearance again, however.  After he’d returned home Blaine had taken to wearing sweatpants and baggy t-shirts with shapeless hoodies, no socks, no shoes.  He’d stopped styling his hair and stopped shaving.  At first Kurt didn’t say anything because with Blaine’s injuries it made sense, but as his mobility improved and his dependence on crutches and then his walking stick diminished there was no real cause for it.  Kurt had tried to convince Blaine to dress up again by trying to take him out, but Blaine had refused to really leave the apartment aside from for his medical appointments.  The therapist had told Kurt early on that Blaine was depressed and that it was to be expected.  Kurt had spent his lunch breaks researching every one of Blaine’s injuries – physical and psychological.  He was getting better at predicting Blaine’s moods based on where Blaine was and what he was doing when he came home.  He was getting better at reading Blaine - something he had never really been able to do before.

Blaine hadn’t been kidding when he said he had plenty of friends who would have run him to his appointments – more cards, flowers, and gifts had come than Kurt knew what to do with.  Blaine had turned almost every visitor away.

Blaine was aware of what his erratic behaviour was doing to Kurt but he didn’t know how else to act.  He didn’t want to plan anything because he wasn’t sure whether he’d be ‘there’ so to speak.  He’d started wearing a semblance of his pre-attack look in an attempt to make Kurt feel better.  He’d always had a talent for it, but over time he’d become eerily good at reading people – especially Kurt.  He’d know what Kurt wanted before he vocalised it and when he could he’d fulfil that desire whether it was for food or drink or a massage or to be kissed in a certain way.  When Kurt was home things were easier.  He had a distraction – someone to focus on.  When Kurt was out or at work Blaine busied himself with his vocal and physical exercises and playing his instruments so he didn’t have to think. 

 

He heard Kurt’s footfall and had put the kettle on before Kurt had even opened the door.  Kurt looked tired and held up a hand in greeting to Blaine when he spotted him.  Blaine frowned.  At the start Kurt had overcompensated for Blaine’s mutism by talking more, however, as the days and weeks dragged on and as Blaine flat out refused to use his voice around Kurt, Kurt had started talking to him less.  Blaine missed the sound of Kurt’s voice.  He realised Kurt must miss his too, but his didn’t exist anymore.  He pushed the thought aside and cleared his throat carefully.

            ‘Huh…H…Hi, Kurt.  How was your d…day?’   He cringed at the impure, rough, stuttering sound but it was worth it for the sudden smile that appeared on Kurt’s face.  Kurt cautiously tried (and failed spectacularly) to mask his delight and crossed over to where Blaine was now making coffee for Kurt.  He approached him as you would a frightened animal – slowly and gingerly so as not to spook him.  Blaine smiled at the thought.

            ‘Good, thank you.  My feature was reviewed today…’  Blaine knew Kurt was holding back from giving him all the information in an attempt to get Blaine to keep talking.  He steeled himself – Kurt needed him to do this.

            ‘H...how did it go?’  Kurt’s excitement was radiating from him in almost visible waves.  Blaine smiled softly at the thought then turned to hand Kurt the mug.

            ‘It was terrifying.  Thank you,’ Kurt took the mug from Blaine and planted a kiss on Blaine’s cheek before taking his hand and leading him to sit by him on the sofa.  ‘Some of the bigwigs were there and they are known for being really super harsh.  I think I actually melted a little I was sweating so hard.  They loved it though.’  Blaine grinned.

            ‘Told you they’d love it.’

            ‘But that’s not even vaguely as important as this.  You’re talking to me!’  Kurt kissed him deeply.  ‘What changed?’  Blaine frowned. 

            ‘I wasn’t not talking to you.’

            ‘You know what I mean.’  Blaine broke eye contact and stared at his hands.  Kurt gently lifted his chin so he was looking at Kurt again.  ‘I love you.’

            ‘I love you too.’  Kurt smiled.

            ‘So…Is this going to be a regular thing now?  Because I’ve missed this.  Your voice does something to me…’  Kurt lent in to kiss Blaine again, his arousal and excitement mingling and sending little sparks through his nervous system.  Blaine pulled away.  Kurt realised too late that he’d said the wrong thing when Blaine untangled himself from Kurt and left the room.  Kurt groaned in frustration.  He heard the start of a piece of classical music – Saint Saens’ ‘Danse Macabre’ played expertly on the violin.  Kurt was torn between giving Blaine some space and trying to fix this.  Blaine had started talking to him – Blaine’s initiating a spoken conversation was so new he couldn’t afford to let it go back to silence - to dancing around each other again.  Restarting their relationship had not been a conscious decision – it had been utterly natural for Kurt, but he’d be lying if he said the last couple of weeks had been easy.  In some ways they had – there had been a couple of moments where things just clicked when neither was thinking too hard or tiptoeing around the taboo trigger subjects.  Kurt ached for those times – glimpses of how good they were together.  How special what they had really was.  He couldn’t let this slip backwards, couldn’t give up the progress.  He stood and strode over to the closed door not bothering to knock as he usually would – it wasn’t like Blaine would have replied anyway.

            ‘Blaine.  You are the single most frustrating and wonderful person I know.  You are so brave and compassionate and insanely talented and I love you so much but you’re also so stupid and insecure.  You’re hung-up on something you have no control over.  Yes it sucks.  But you’re making so much progress; you - open up - and then you close down and it all goes away and you go backwards and I lose you all over again.  You’re minimising your achievements and it is killing me.  You are so much more than your voice, which by the way, sounds like some sort of dreamy perfection and that roughness you hate really does go straight to my crotch and you’re not even done healing so I have every confidence that you’ll get it back and you’ll be singing with me again, but even if you can’t, Blaine, it doesn’t matter.  You are not your voice.  You are so much more than that.’ 

Blaine had stopped playing when Kurt entered the room and something about Blaine standing silhouetted by the last of evening sunlight in front of the window holding his violin loosely like some strange incarnation of Sherlock Holmes did something to Kurt.  He’d just snapped.  He felt out of breath when his tirade ended.  The following silence hung in the air thickly and he couldn’t make out Blaine’s features to try to see what effect he’d had on him.  Blaine hadn’t moved. 

‘Blaine, say something.’ 

The silence was deafening, smothering them, punctuated by their shaky breathing and the roar of traffic outside and the dripping of the tap in the bathroom. 

‘Please, Blaine.’  A whispered plea.  Kurt needed to see Blaine’s expression, he needed to know what was going on in his head but he didn’t dare move.  Blaine wasn’t moving.  ‘I can’t do this, I’m sorry.’  Kurt spun on his heel and left.  He got as far as the front door and his hand froze before he could open it.  He had done it again.  He was about to storm out in the same way he’d done before - that last time he’d left, forcing Blaine to follow, forcing him to defend him, forcing him to fight.  He dropped his head against the door letting his anger and frustration and pain bubble up and overflow in tear form.  He was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.  He let his hand drop from the door handle to his side limply.  He didn’t expect to feel Blaine’s arms slide firmly with no hesitation around Kurt’s waist.  Didn’t expect to feel Blaine’s warmth press against him, his untamed curls to tickle his neck, his mouth to gently kiss the exposed part of his shoulder where his lose shirt had slid off one shoulder, his stubble prickling him.  Didn’t expect Blaine to gently and softly hum to him against his skin like he used to to calm Kurt down years ago when they were both inexperienced teenagers playing at love, playing at a relationship.  Kurt couldn’t stop the smile that erupted over his features no more than he could change the past or predict the future, and he felt Blaine smile against his shoulder in response.

            ‘You are so b…beautiful, Kurt.  I’m so sorry.’   

Kurt turned in Blaine’s arms to face him slipping his own arms through Blaine’s and around his neck.  Blaine kissed away his tears and just held him humming softly.  Kurt leant his head against Blaine’s.

 

            After the ‘big explosion’ as Kurt referred to it, things got a little better.  Blaine consciously tried to open up to Kurt more and Kurt actively made an effort to encourage Blaine to talk to him. 

Kurt gingerly opened the door one afternoon to hear something he would never have believed he’d hear again – Blaine was singing.  Quietly and softly, but he was singing.  Kurt recognised it as a typically acoustic and typically _Blaine_ version of ‘For the First Time’ by The Script.  He held his breath and couldn’t bring himself to close the door behind him he was so terrified Blaine would hear him and stop.  His voice was different to before – the purity was gone, and it was a little deeper than Kurt recalled it being, but he’d never sounded more perfect to Kurt.  Kurt must have made a noise when he had remembered that it was necessary to breathe because Blaine stopped suddenly and then his head popped around the frame of the door. 

            ‘Hey, Kurt.  I wasn’t expecting you home yet.’  Blaine’s smile was contagious and Kurt’s face hurt from smiling so hard back at him.

            ‘So… How long have you been hiding the fact that you’re singing again from me?  Or are we pretending I didn’t hear that?’

Blaine laughed and ignored Kurt’s question as he walked over to the oven to finish making their dinner.  Kurt hadn’t even noticed that Blaine had been cooking. 

            ‘You may want to close the door, Kurt.  Unless we’re expecting someone because I know you weren’t b…born in a barn.’  The lightness in Blaine’s voice as he joked was magical to Kurt.  He closed the door and dropped his bag in front of it as he walked towards Blaine.

            ‘Come on.  Out with it.’  Kurt ignored Blaine’s attempt to distract him with humour and spun Blaine around to face him.  ‘Come on, Mr.’

            ‘You weren’t supposed to hear that.’

            ‘I realised.  You sound…’

            ‘Please, Kurt.  Not now, OK?’  Blaine interrupted him, his smile fading.

            ‘You sound really great.’  Kurt ignored Blaine.  ‘Really, really great actually.  Different – but it suits you.  It’s really sexy – the gravelly-ness…’ 

            ‘That’s not a word, Kurt.  Basically you’re saying I sound rough.’

‘No!  Most guys have to smoke to get that, you know.  It’s really hot.’  Blaine rolled his eyes.  ‘Sing me something.’ 

‘No, Kurt.  I need to finish making dinner.’

‘Come on, please?’  Kurt gave Blaine what he knew were his puppy-dog eyes – the ones he knew Blaine couldn’t refuse so he didn’t use them against him too often.  Blaine groaned. 

‘That’s not fair – you’re playing dirty, Mr. Hummel.’  Kurt made his eyes bigger and emphasised the look.  Blaine laughed.  ‘Compromise…’

‘No compromises.’

‘Hear me out.  I play and you sing.’

‘No deal.’

‘I play and we duet?’

‘Nope.’

‘Come on, Kurt.  Be fair.’  Blaine pouted and it took all of Kurt’s resolve not to laugh.  ‘OK.  I’ll sing.  But you choose the song.’

‘Not how this works, Blaine.’

‘I really hate you right now.’

‘No you don’t.  You’re smiling.  Your poker face needs work.’  Blaine stuck his tongue out at Kurt.  ‘Come on.’  Kurt walked towards their music / dressing room and Blaine followed with the slightest hesitation.

‘If dinner burns it is your fault.’

‘Accepted.  Now sit.’  Kurt pushed Blaine lightly down onto the piano stool.  The piano had been an unexpected present from Cooper – he’d explained in his accompanying letter that his parents hadn’t wanted to ship Blaine’s grand piano for fear of damaging it so this was a replacement – also it wouldn’t take up quite so much room.  The piano was white and Kurt had promptly redecorated the room to compliment the piano turning it into a feature.  Blaine had simply rolled his eyes and told Kurt to do whatever made him happy because that would make Blaine happy.  Kurt smiled a little at the memory.

Blaine casually ran his fingers over the keys casually playing the start of Chopin’s ‘Scherzo No. 2 Op. 31’ without any sheet music.  A couple of months ago Kurt would have been shell shocked.  He held his resolve. 

‘That’s not what we agreed, Blaine.’

He laughed wickedly and switched into Rachmaninoff’s ‘Prelude in G Minor Op. 23’.  He segued into Liszt’s ‘La Campanella’ when Kurt growled.

            ‘Blaine.’  Kurt’s voice was threatening.  Blaine signed and stopped playing.

            ‘Fine.’  He muttered.  He was rewarded by Kurt’s smile and a kiss on the cheek.

            ‘You do know that you shouldn’t have hid your talents at McKinley, right?’  Blaine rolled his eyes.  ‘No, really.  You could have played and sung solo and knocked everyone out of the water.’ 

            ‘Everyone in Glee knew I play piano, Kurt.  I sang and played Phil Collins’ ‘Against All Odds’ in front of everyone...’

            ‘What about everything else you play?  The guitar?  The drums?  The violin?  Stop trying to get me to argue with you.  You’re not getting out of this.’  Blaine smiled softly and turned back to face the piano with a sigh.

            ‘Fine.  But I sound awful so please don’t laugh, Kurt.’  Kurt didn’t say anything in response so Blaine started to play the opening to Rufus Wainwright’s ‘Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk (Reprise)’.  He took a breath and started to sing, softly and uncertainly at first then he let himself get lost in the music and started to loosen up.  He closed his eyes and let go.  When he finished the last bar he felt his shoulders tense as he waited. Kurt, true to his word had said nothing.  He’d almost forgotten Kurt was in the room while he’d been playing.  Now he was painfully aware – waiting to hear Kurt’s opinion.  When nothing came he slowly spun around on the stool to face Kurt.  Blaine’s heart was hammering painfully in his chest.  It took everything he had – every ounce of courage – to lift his eyes to meet Kurt’s.  He steeled himself and waited.  The ball was in Kurt’s court.  He’d done what Kurt had asked.  He waited.  Kurt had his hands covering his mouth like he was in shock or about to laugh.  Blaine waited.  Kurt blinked and brought his hands down slowly. 

            ‘Oh, Blaine.’  He murmured.  Was Kurt crying?  ‘Oh, honey.  You really can’t hear yourself can you?’  Kurt was suddenly on his knees between Blaine’s legs, his hands holding Blaine’s.  It was then that the fire alarm went off.  Blaine swore under his breath then stumbled when his weaker leg gave slightly from the awkward way he’d tried to stand without bowling Kurt over.  He put a hand out to stop himself falling and caught his balance using the wall then rushed out to the kitchen.  Kurt was right behind him grabbing a tea towel to fan the alarm’s sensor while Blaine investigated the damage to their dinner.  Once the alarm finally switched off they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

 

            The lights were blinding and the noise level hammered into his mind unbidden.  Blaine was on a stage.  He felt dizzy.  Confused.  He turned slowly and saw the familiar faces of Paul, Mark and Ken all sweating and obviously buzzed.  How did he get from the kitchen to here?  How much time had passed?  His mind went into a now familiar overdrive as he tried to piece together what he’d missed.  He didn’t have too much time because the guys had started playing.  He recognised the song as Darren Criss’ ‘Stutter’.  He had a split second to decide - he could bolt or go with it.  He wouldn’t be on stage if he wasn’t OK to sing and if he was no good.  Right?  He started to sing.  The girls in the crowd went wild.  He frowned slightly.  His voice was not as smooth as he’d like but the depth to it did sound good.  It was strong too.  Possibly stronger than his voice was before.  It was probably due to the exercises.  He let himself go with it and enjoy the feeling of performing again – something he thought he’d never have.  The song ended to a huge cheer and he grinned.  ‘Thank you.’  He noticed the guys stand to take their half-time (?) bow and head towards the bar.  Paul gave him a high five, and Ken winked as they passed him.

            ‘You are seriously awesome tonight, bro!  You’re not gonna forget us as you shoot to fame, eh?  Don’t envy you the fan-girls tonight mind.’  Paul clapped him on the shoulder as he followed the others making the ‘loco’ hand gesture when he mentioned the screaming horde who awaited them at the foot of the stage.  Blaine followed a little hesitantly still trying to get his mental balance.  He was suddenly surrounded and he couldn’t breathe as boiling, sweating, writhing bodies pressed against him.

            ‘Oh my god.  You’re amazing!’

            ‘Blink!’

            ‘Can I get you a drink?’

            ‘You are the sexiest man on the planet!’

            ‘Will you sign my shirt?’

            ‘Blink, Blink!  Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you!’

            ‘Blink!’

He tried to take it in.  Something had changed while he’d been away.  He didn’t understand.  He’d played countless gigs before and had never experienced this kind of fan girling.  One of them tried to grope him.  He tried not to freak out as he made his way towards the back room and a little solitude mumbling ‘thank you’s and ‘you’re so sweet’s.  He’d never been so relieved to feel a familiar warmth wrap around his shoulders and Kurt’s sweet voice.

            ‘Sorry ladies.  I’m going to have to steal this one away from you.’

If he’d been in a better place mentally he’d have laughed at the series of moans that followed Kurt’s declaration.  Instead he pressed close and let Kurt steer him through to the back room.  Once they were alone he realised he was shaking.

            ‘It happened again, didn’t it?’  Kurt said softly.

Blaine nodded.  He didn’t trust himself to talk right now.  He was still reeling from the idea that he was performing again.

            ‘What’s the last thing you remember?’

            ‘Um… Uh…  We burnt dinner?  You…you made me sing, and we burnt the dinner and the fire alarm went off and it was the funniest thing.’  He groaned and pressed his palms to his temples.

            ‘Oh, wow.  OK.  Um… a lot has happened since then.’

            ‘I noticed.’

            ‘Um…  Where to start?  Well…You tried out with the band again – I may have pushed you a little.’

Blaine made a face.

            ‘OK.  A lot.  But it was worth it.  Um…  Blaine.  I don’t quite know how to tell you this.’

            ‘What is it, Kurt?’

Kurt fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone.  Blaine raised an eyebrow.

            ‘Um… Kurt?  What’cha doing?  I’m falling to pieces over here.’

            ‘Sorry… just let me… Here.’  He handed the phone to Blaine.  It was a YouTube search.  Blaine’s heart jumped a beat or maybe four.  The search was for his name and the results included interviews and numerous live videos of him performing.  He shakily clicked on one and scrolled to the comments.  He almost dropped the phone. 

            ‘That’s…That is not me.’

            ‘It is.  Things have been a bit crazy recently.’

            ‘Understatement of the year there, Kurt.’  He hit back and scrolled through the results.  He froze when he saw one – ‘I was on ‘Ellen’!?’  The still showed him mid-laugh, guy-liner and rock god-ed up with Ellen on his lap, her arms around his neck.

            ‘That interview was the first one you did.  It was received really well…’  Kurt filled him in looking over his shoulder. 

The video below the ‘Ellen’ one appeared to be of an interview he seemed to have done for ‘Kathy’ - another chat show.  Again, the still showed him and the hostess, Kathy – this time however, the hostess appeared to be licking him and he was making a face and laughing.

            ‘Yeah, um.  Your press guys hadn’t told her you were gay and she was kind of all over you.  You handled it so well though.  Your charming debonair side came out and you just shined.  They still haven’t decided how to…or whether to…’out’ you to the world yet.’

This was so surreal.  Blaine felt sick.  The world?!  Something in Blaine’s facial expression or his posture gave his inner freak-out away to Kurt.  He touched him gently on the shoulder a look of real concern on his face.

            ‘Um... yeah.  You don’t remember at all do you?’ 

            ‘This…this isn’t happening...’

            ‘Hey, hey, shhhh.’  Kurt reached for him and he let Kurt hold him while he struggled to process the idea.  Blaine’s pretty sure he heard Kurt mention ‘press guys’…  When did he need, let alone get, someone to handle the press and why did he have more than one?  This wasn’t a minor time skip.  This couldn’t be.  There was no way…

There was a knock on the door and an immaculate red-haired lady with stylish glasses and a clipboard poked her head around the door interrupting his rapidly derailing train of thought.  She reminded Blaine of Bette Midler.

            ‘Ready to go back on?’

            ‘Um… Judi.  Blaine’s not feeling too well.  I think it is dehydration.  Do you think you could…?’

            ‘Oh, sure, no problem, Kurt.  I’ll go explain.  He’s only performing tonight as a favour to Patty for letting him out of that contract - I’m sure she’ll understand.  They can go into karaoke mode and let the punters on.’  She smiled and gave Blaine a concerned look.  ‘Get him better for tomorrow morning though, yeah?  The studio will need him at his best.’

Kurt smiled and nodded.  Judi left and Kurt turned back to face Blaine. 

            ‘I’m taking you to the doctors, now.  Come on.  This has been going on for too long.’

Blaine didn’t even try to protest. 


	15. Sit back relax, relapse again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Camisado' – Panic! At the Disco

            The waiting room was apple green and certainly was not calming.  Blaine’s mind was whirring.  Occasionally he’d ask Kurt a question and Kurt would give him the answer then Blaine would go quiet and process the answer he had received.  This had been going on from the moment they slipped out the back of the club to hail a cab.  Blaine was genuinely scared - he felt like he was going mad.  He fisted his hands in his hair and dropped his head.  Kurt put a reassuring hand on his knee and ran his thumb back and forth over the rough material of Blaine’s jeans.  Blaine felt like he was boiling but Kurt had insisted on the hoodie and the non-descript sunglasses. 

            ‘The last thing you want right now is for the paparazzi to follow us to the psych ward, Blaine.  Plus I think Justin and Claire would actually kill me…’  He’d frowned in response to Blaine’s questioning look.  ‘They’re your press team…’ 

            ‘Oh.  OK.’

Kurt had never looked so concerned.  He’d started mothering Blaine and treating him like he’d hit his head and may die any moment.  Blaine had only seen Kurt act this way when he had been concerned for his father after his heart attack and then his cancer diagnosis.  It felt so weird but he didn’t say anything, understanding that it was Kurt’s coping mechanism.  Hell, one of them had to be coping.

 

            ‘Mr. Morgan?’  The nurse popped her head around the door and Blaine was surprised when Kurt stood and ushered him towards the door.

            ‘Incognito, Blaine.’  Kurt mumbled under his breath.

As it turned out Kurt did most of the talking.  Confidently answering every question the doctor threw their way.  As the person with the most contact with Blaine it only made sense.

No, Blaine didn’t seem noticeably different between episodes.

No, he had been fine when they’d been at school.

No, he’s never done drugs of any kind – he couldn’t even take cough syrup without it affecting him so he’d never been inclined to try anything harder.

No, he’s not left the country or been to South America or Africa or any rainforests.

No, there didn’t appear to be a trigger.

No, the time between episodes was not consistent – this last one had been the longest between-time though.

No, Blaine was never violent.

Yes, Blaine had a history of Depression.

No, he’d not hit his head.

Yes, he seemed to function completely normally between episodes – recognising people and recalling events with clarity.

No, he’d not had unprotected sex with someone who may be HIV+ or have any other STI – he’d been tested for everything.

Yes, he’d had a full blood screen after the attack a couple of months back.  Everything was clear.

Yes, he’d had some insomnia and some panic attacks reminiscent of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder but that seemed to have abated as his voice had recovered.

Yes, their sex-life and relationship in general was actually excellent.  They rarely argued about anything and things were going really well.

No, his family were being really supportive and he’d not argued with any of them recently.  Even Blaine’s father seemed to be genuinely proud of his success.

 

Blaine let Kurt field the questions and zoned out – he tried to recall the first time he had consciously ‘lost’ time.  It had happened so gradually – a lost couple of minutes, a lost hour – that he had not through anything of it.  But this last time had been _months_.  Months that he had absolutely no recollection of.  At least before the ‘memories’ had filled in the gaps and he’d been able to piece things together.  He was genuinely scared.  How long did he have before he lost time again?  Would it be years next time?  What did that mean for his relationships?  How could the people he loved not notice when he wasn’t himself?  How was he functioning without being ‘there’?  If it was not easy to tell ‘them’ apart what did that mean?  Who was he?  When he had an ‘episode’ who was Blaine?

 Kurt nudged his shoulder.

                ‘Blaine!’

                ‘Oh!  Sorry.  I was thinking.’

                ‘Mr. Anderson – as I was just saying to your partner – I’d like to do some tests.  First could you tell me a couple of things, and please, don’t be embarrassed or think it is silly or anything because I need to know, OK?’

Blaine nodded and grimaced internally.  He hated it when people said not to be embarrassed – it was always followed by something embarrassing.

                ‘OK.  When did you first notice a time skip?’

                ‘I think it first happened around the time Kurt and I broke up…  I just put it down to not sleeping enough.  I was exhausted.’

                ‘Do you remember much about it?’

                ‘Um…no.  It was just like…uh…when you’re thinking hard about something….like when you’re driving and you’re on autopilot and then you realise you don’t recall driving the last few miles.  A bit like that, but without the conscious thought.  One minute Biology class had just started, and then the bell signalled its end.  I’d somehow zoned out for the whole class…like microsleep but with no dreams.  No one noticed.’

                ‘How often did it happen?’

                ‘I’m not sure.  I only noticed really when the gaps grew longer.  But most of the time the in between time would fill in after a couple of minutes.  After the initial disorientation.’

                ‘What makes this last time different?’

                ‘Um…I still can’t remember anything that happened in the time I was absent.  Also, I think it’s the longest time jump so far.  Before this I think it was a couple of weeks.’

                ‘Have you ever experienced any hallucinations?  Seen things that weren’t there?  Flashing lights?  Headaches?’

Blaine went quiet and nodded.

                ‘Could you describe them for me?’

                ‘Sometimes…’  He could feel Kurt’s eyes on him but he pushed through.  ‘Sometimes, there are people that I know aren’t really there – they’re in my peripheral vision and they disappear when I look directly at them.’

                ‘What do they look like?  Could you describe what they are doing?’

                ‘They’re usually suited – working on computers in a large office.’

                ‘When do you see them?  Can you see them now?’

                ‘Not right now…no.  It usually happens when I’m on my own, or am really tired.’

The doctor wrote something down in her notes.  He stared at his knees, avoiding Kurt.

                _I’m probably going mad.  Kurt must think I’m a total basket case.  A mentally unstable freak._

                ‘What about headaches, or flashing lights?’

                ‘Some headaches.’

                ‘Other than the office people, do you ever see anything else?’

                ‘Sometimes it’s like I’m in a dream and I’m somebody else, somewhere else.’  He saw Kurt tense in the corner of his vision.  ‘When I’m there I’m always alone, but if I see people – or the cats that live there – I know their names and I know things about them.  And if I lie down and I find somewhere quiet, sometimes I can go back to being me again.’

The doctor frowned and started writing again.  Blaine dropped his head into his hands.

                ‘How often does something like this happen?’

                ‘Sometimes it’s between the time jumps.  Sometimes there’s nothing – one moment I’m there, the next I’m somewhere else, desperately trying to catch up.’

The doctor nodded slightly.

                ‘OK.  Mr. Anderson – I’m going to book you in for some tests.  I want to do an MRI to see what’s going on in there, and I’d like to do a sleep study.  I’d also like to explore these events where you are someone else in some more detail.’  Kurt hadn’t said a word or moved.  Blaine frowned.  ‘Who should I talk to about your schedule?’

Blain shrugged.

                ‘Last I knew I had a pretty free schedule…’

                ‘Judi.  It’s best to call Judi.  She’s his manager and handles his scheduling.’  Kurt interrupted him.  ‘Blaine, could you wait outside for a minute?  I need to talk to the doctor?’

Blaine didn’t even have the energy to argue.  He walked out and waited in the corridor – his head was spinning.  He looked up when the door opened and Kurt came out.  He looked tired and was clutching a piece of paper.  Neither said anything until they got back to their apartment, until after they’d eaten.  Blaine was washing up when Kurt broke the silence.

                ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Blaine?’

                ‘About what?’

                ‘Any of this?  How long it had been going on for?  When it started happening?  The fact you see people that aren’t there?!  Any of it!’

Blaine didn’t answer.  He hadn’t wanted to worry anyone.  It hadn’t been too bad while he could hide it – while he thought it was due to sleep deprivation.  When it had just been him in New York it hadn’t mattered.  Things were different now – he had Kurt.  Or at least he _had_ …

                ‘I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Kurt.  It’s not exactly easy to tell someone that you see people and loose time and become someone else somewhere else where you know other people and have this whole other life.’

                ‘I’m not just someone, Blaine.’

                ‘That’s not what I meant.  It’s just… I feel like I’m losing my mind, Kurt, and I’m terrified.’            

                ‘Then talk to _me_.  We are a team, Blaine.  You and me.  I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.’  Kurt gently turned Blaine to face him.  ‘I can’t lose you again, not like this.’

                ‘I just feel like, if no one notices when I’m not _me_ then what’s the point?  Who am I?  Maybe it’s better when I’m not me.  I seem to do better when I’m not me…’

                ‘Shhhh…’  Kurt embraced Blaine, trying to stop his meltdown.  ‘We’ll sort this out.  I promise.  We will.  I love you so much.’

                ‘How?  How can you, Kurt?  Who do you love?  I don’t even know who I am – how can you?’

                ‘You are the kind, dapper dork I met on a stairway in a school I didn’t go to.  You are the strong, sexy guy who sang to me and told me to have courage.  You are the lost, insecure school boy who transferred schools to be closer to me.  You are the brave, courageous guy who took a rock-salt slushie to the eye for me, and the man who saved me from being beaten in an alleyway, or worse.  You are the gentleman who never fails to surprise me.  But most of all…you are the love of my life and my best friend, Blaine.’  Kurt was crying.  Blaine was crying.

                ‘You can’t even tell when I’m not me, Kurt…’

                ‘I didn’t even know what you were going through!  You look like you!  You dress like you!  You sound like you!’

                ‘I need to think…  I’m going to bed.  See you in the morning, maybe…if I’m still me I mean.’ 

                ‘Blaine!’

His mind was whirring and his head was pounding and he could barely breathe.

                ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Kurt.  It’s just…a lot to deal with right now.  I don’t even know how we got back together or even if that’s what this is.  I don’t know anything anymore…’

                ‘How can I help?  Tell me what I can do to help.’

                ‘Fill me in on what happened?’

                ‘OK.’

 


	16. Just let me hold you while you're falling apart.  Just let me hold you and we'll both fall down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Ever the Same' – Rob Thomas

She’s not been sleeping well.  She doesn’t know whether it is because of the anti-depressants, or going to bed too late, or in the wrong position, or because her husband comes to bed too late.  She doesn’t know why but she always awakens tired.

Her dreams are not as vivid as they once were but they tend to follow on from her pre-sleep escapism more than they used to.  She feels less in control of them now though.  Maybe that’s why she is so tired when she wakes? 

She wakes at 4:45am every morning.  Her alarm does not go off until 5:50am.  There’s no explanation for that either.

She is frustrated with her manager – he didn’t take her mid-term review seriously.  He hadn’t even read her self-assessment before he showed up, then proceeded to explain exactly why no matter how well she was doing he would only score her as average throughout her graduate placement.  Basically he’s playing the bell-curve game.  While she accepts that – she does not find it to be fair.  How is she supposed to know what she is doing well or needs to improve?  What happens when she is no longer a graduate and the reviews directly affect her pay?  She has more experience and does more and takes more responsibility than the other grads she knows.  She is scored lower than them.  It frustrates and angers her.

She finally started to fit in her placement department and managed to fix one of their coding problems when it was time to move to her second.  She’s already enjoying it more in her new team.  They are generally friendly and, though the office is older, it feels less like a call centre than the new office did.  This office is more spread out and green not grey.  There are plants and shades of green – the walls are pale green and the desk division boards are dark green and the carpet tiles are stained, but were once grey with green flecks.  The room feels like it is in the bottom of a pond. 

She has a proper project this time.  One she can sink her teeth into and already has though this is technically only her second day.  She wants to prove herself.  Build up the case that she is better than average.  She doesn’t have her own desk assigned this time though.  She’s camping at someone else’s and has no idea where she’ll go when they return. 

Her new car was delivered over the bank holiday finally.  She was inexplicably sad when she dropped her old companion, Bertha, off at her new owner’s.  She feels like she betrayed an old friend.  Oli is new and slightly confusing but she feels good.  She will have to see how they bond. 

Presently she feels as if she is drowning in time - a mere inch of it in a giant tub with greased sides.  There is so little of it and so many demands on it and she has no control.  So many people - friends, family, work - all demanding of her and she has not got enough to give.  It keeps draining away yet somehow she is still drowning...  She recalls a dream she had when she was younger.  She was in the changing rooms of the local swimming pool when she discovered she could swim through the heavy chlorinated air.  She started to swim towards the ceiling holding her breath.  She reached the ceiling then kicked off to swim back towards the air at the floor.  She didn't make it and woke struggling to breathe. 

Some days she is sure.  Sure of who she is and what she wants.  Others she is a shadow and lets him be.  Those days make time go more quickly.  Those days feel fulfilling in a way her days often fail to achieve. 

Someone is humming tunelessly - she looks over and sees the culprit, headphones in, oblivious to the unconscious noise they are producing.  She turns back and puts her own headphones in to block the piercing noise, to drown the growing background babble as others come in.  Staggered starting times.  Flexible.


	17. I've lost myself once and I see that I was weak at heart, and if you will stay here with me we face the hardest part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Far Away' – Cut Copy

His head was spinning and he felt violently sick.  He lurched towards what he hoped was the waste paper basket, shuddering.  What was happening?  Where was he?  Where was Kurt?  He ran a hand through his hair - shorter than he recalled it being and still gel-bound.  Like it had been _before_. 

_Shit._

Where was he?  When was he?  He palmed his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision and his mind.  He looked around the unfamiliar room for clues.  His stuff was here - that was a good start.  So it must be his room.  Most of it was boxed.  He couldn't have been here too long then.  He looked out the window.  The city scape was New York but the view was unfamiliar.  OK.  So he's in New York, he's not been here long, and this is his place.  He patted his pockets and found his phone, wrestling it out he checked his recent calls, e-mails and his calendar.  E-mail - his parents asking how he was getting on moving into the apartment.  E-mail - Cooper telling him to watch some TV program at 8pm to watch out for him as an extra.  Text from Tina asking him whether he'd contacted Kurt yet.  Text from Sam telling him to send him pictures of the new pad.  Missed call from his mother.  Call to his mother.  20 minutes ago.  OK.  He got to his feet and wandered out of the room and into what appeared to be the open plan living area/kitchen.  It was spacious and immaculate.  He looked through each room for clues - there was a second bedroom which was mainly empty - a couple of Cooper's(?!) clothes in the closet, otherwise it was a typical guest room.  Large bathroom with just his things.  OK.  It appears he lives alone and that Cooper visits.  Right...  Back to the living area - a stack of opened mail.  He rifles though - mostly bills, all addressed to him.  A mortgage document - addressed to him.  He _owns_ this place?  He takes a moment to process the new information.  He notices the date.  That can't be right.  He's gone backwards?  He hasn't gone backwards before and it is terrifying.  He's gotten used to jumping forwards in time, not backwards.  It's a week after graduation at McKinley.  He's not moved in with Dare - he's never met Dare because Cooper's filmed some work as an extra in this reality his mind fills in for him.  He's not played all those gigs.  Not been discovered.  He checks by quickly Googling his name.  No mention of interviews on Ellen.  No mention of singles or albums.  OK.   He doesn’t know how to feel.  Or what to feel for that matter.  He runs his hands through his hair and his hand meets the resistance of the gel – right!  He’d forgotten about that.  He looks around and he’s not sure whether it is the heat of the summer or the lack of space but he is starting to feel trapped in this apartment - _his_ apartment.  He needs to get out.  He glances at himself in the mirror and groans.  He showers quickly rinsing out the gel - he hadn't missed the way it stung his eyes.  Towelling himself off he styles his hair as he had been for the past months - except that hadn't happened.  He shakes his head a little to dismiss the thought then raids the wardrobe - finds some black jeans and a fitted t-shirt then grabs wallet, sunglasses, and keys and heads out of the apartment.  He takes note of the street name where he apparently lives now and he starts walking.  No destination in mind he just needs air.  Needs to think.  What's happening to him?  When it happens again which direction will he go in - forwards or backwards in time?  How much will change next time?  He doesn't even notice her until he's almost walked into her.  Santana Lopez is grinning.

'Damn, Anderson!'  She looks him up and down.  'When did you get hot?'

'Um... excuse me?'  She's caught him off guard.  He hadn't expected to run into anyone he knows.  Who knew him.

'Oh, this is just brilliant.  Does he know you're here?'

'Good to see you too, Santana.  I only just got here,' it isn't a complete lie, 'and I was just orienting myself.  Was going to give you guys a call actually.'

'Lady Hummel's going to flip.'  She is grinning, plotting something, but her smile seems genuine.  'You busy?  Want to grab a coffee?'

'Um... sure?'   The distraction would actually be nice.

'Great.'  She links arms with him and leads him back in the direction he's just come from towards a coffee house he hadn’t even noticed was there.  He reprimands himself – he needs to start paying attention. 

She opens the door and practically drags him after her.  He should have known something was up from the way she'd been smiling.  It's been too long since he'd been in her company and he'd forgotten how to read her.  Kurt is there.  Rachel is there.  A guy is there.  He is vaguely aware that it is the guy that had been in the club before, _but it isn’t because that never happened_.  Blaine wants to throw up again.  He's lost control.

'Lookie what Auntie Snixx brought you, Kurt!'  She pulls him forward and they've seen him so there's no escaping now.  He doesn't see the surprise cross Rachel's face or the appreciative then mildly confused look cross the other guy's features.  Blaine is only looking at Kurt.  Kurt obviously doesn't recognise him at first.

'Satan, I'm with Adam.  You know that.  He's right here.  You can't just drag some guy in off the street, no matter how gorgeous they are...  Wait… Blaine?!'  The recognition seems to deflate Kurt and he's gone the colour of beetroot.  Blaine removes his sunglasses and smiles apologetically.

'Didn't mean to intrude.  Santana saw me and dragged me in here for coffee.  I had no idea.  Um... I'll go.'  He turns to leave and Santana wolf-whistles.  Rachel appears to be in some sort of stunned silence - that's a first; Blaine doesn't have time to think on it.

'Stay.  Stay!'  Kurt's plea causes him to turn around.  Kurt takes his hand and walks him back to the table.  'Blaine this is Adam.  Adam, Blaine.'  Blaine holds out his hand and Adam stands and shakes it. 

'So you're the infamous Blaine.  Nice to finally meet you.'  Adam is smiling but it looks a little hollow and doesn't reach his eyes.

'Nice to meet you,' Blaine flashes Adam a smile – he’s a better faker and knows that his looks genuine; he’s had a lot of practice.  'Hi, Rachel.'  Rachel is smiling and stands to pull him into a huge hug.

'When did you get here?  Are you here permanently?  Where are you living now?'  Rachel's questions come fast and furious.  Santana smirks.  He finds himself seated between Kurt and Rachel - he's not sure how that happened.

'Um... I was just telling Santana - I literally just got here.  I'm actually living down the street.'

 'Oooooh, do tell.  What's it like?  How can you actually afford around here?  You’re not,’ Rachel stage whispers, ‘ _selling yourself_ are you?’

Blaine laughs in surprise.

‘Rachel, just because Brody was a man-whore doesn’t mean Blaine is.  Even if he is dressed like he’s out to score some sweet man-candy.  Actually how are you affording to live around here?’  Santana leans around Rachel. 

‘Um…Well, the apartment is kind of perfect for me really.  Two bedrooms so I can take a lodger, but Cooper’s threatened to visit when he’s next on this coast.  I’ll probably keep it free for guests  - that way no one's going to complain when I'm composing when I can't sleep.'  Rachel laughs.  'I figured, I'm going to be here a while and I like the area so I bought it.'  Kurt coughs  - choking on his coffee.

'You OK there, Kurt?'  Santana is grinning like she's won the lottery.  But she is looking at him and he knows she noticed him avoid the real question.

'Fine,' he splutters.  Blaine notices Adam try to pat Kurt on the back, notices Kurt pull away slightly.  _Interesting._

'So, Blaine, got any plans for later?  We were all going to head to Callbacks.'  Adam throws the offer on the table as if it were a gauntlet. 

'Thanks, but I really should finish unpacking.  Maybe another night?'  Blaine casually disarms him.  As twisted as things are right now he doesn't need things to get more complicated.

'Come on, Blaine.  Would be good to catch-up.'  Rachel tries her puppy-dog eyes forgetting he's immune.

'Yeah, come on, Blainers.  Ain't no way I'm letting you just walk on out of here.  You got all hot and sexual now you got rid of that horrific gelmet you used to plaster on your head.  You're going to be my arm candy and keep the guys off me, and we're going to duet because I don't recall duetting with you and I know you can keep up when I dance.  You’re not seriously going to leave me alone with hobbit, Lady Hummel and bad Dr Who are you?'  Santana is looking at him pointedly.  He briefly wonders what her plan is.

'Sorry, San.  Maybe another night.'  He stands and makes to leave.  'Lovely seeing you guys again.  Nice to meet you, Adam.'  Ever the gentleman.  He turns.  Santana wolf-whistles again.

'Damn.'

Blaine smiles as he slips his sunglasses back on and heads out into the sunlight.  He's lost in his own thoughts and doesn't notice someone has followed him until he feels a hand on his arm.  He stops and turns. 

'What the hell, Blaine?!'  Kurt is shouting at him.

                'Whoa, Kurt.'

                'You can't do things like that!  You can't waltz into someone's life looking like that and smelling like that and...'

                'Kurt, stop.  Like I said.  I just got here.  I had to get out of my apartment and clear my head and Santana saw me and it was good to see someone familiar.  I forgot how conniving she can be.  I had no idea you'd be there.  I'm so...'

                'You say you're sorry and I'll... I can't do this.'  There are tears in Kurt’s eyes and something in Blaine snaps.  He's desperately trying to resolve the Kurt he was just with, _his_ Kurt, into this Kurt who is Adam's and furious at him.

                'What's wrong exactly Kurt?  Friends don't react like this when a friend appears in their city.  Because that’s totally what you are, right, just friends.'  Santana must have followed them.  Blaine looks up - Santana, Adam and Rachel are all staring.  Kurt turns on his heel and glares at Santana.

                'This is all your fault!  Why can't you just keep out of things, Santana?  This isn't about you.  This has nothing to do with you!  You say you're my friend but all you've done since you moved in is try to sabotage Adam and my relationship.'

                'Oh, hell no.  You don't get to put this all on me Hummel.  You're the one who tapped that,' she gestured to Blaine, 'at that catastrophe Mr. Schue called a Wedding.  You're the one who got all puffy and teary eyed when you _chose_ to watch _Moulin Rouge_ of all the films you own when we were snowed in.  You don't get to blame me for you running out of here just now and making a scene.  That was all you.'

                'Kurt, come on.  Not now.  Not like this.'  Rachel is holding her hand out to Kurt, silently asking him to stop fighting and to go with her.  Kurt can't seem to look at anyone but Santana right now.  He's glaring daggers. 

                'Kurt, I think you and Blaine need to talk.'  Adam has stepped forwards and puts his hands firmly on Kurt's shoulders turning him slightly to try to break Kurt’s death glare at Santana.  'You can't blame Santana, here.  Not for something that is so painfully obvious, Kurt.  It's not her fault.  She shouldn't have forced you to deal with it but someone had to because what you've been doing is not fair to anyone; not me, not you.'

                'Damn you and your British stiff upper lip.  And damn you and your psychic Mexican third eye.'  Kurt glares at them both as Adam steps past him to Blaine.

                'Come out tonight.'  It is not a suggestion though it is spoken softly and only to him.  Blaine nods slightly still frowning.  He's not sure what just happened.  'Good.'  Adam claps him on the back.  Blaine thinks he might have liked Adam in another life.  ‘We'll be there around 8pm.’  Rachel has latched onto Kurt and has started to lead him back in the direction of the nearest subway station.  Santana's smile has faded slightly.  Blaine holds up a hand in a silent wave and Santana nods as she turns to follow.

                 'He's still in love with you, you know.  I think he always will be.'

                'Look, you seem really nice.  You seem good for him and if he's happy that's all I want.  I didn't come to New York to win him back and I'm sorry we met like we did.  That's not how I would have wanted it to go.'

                'I know.'  Adam smiles and the crinkles around his eyes deepen.  'He's happy sometimes.  But he doesn't love me.  I can't play second fiddle in a relationship.  I thought maybe I could, but I can't.  Not now you're in the same city.  A blind man could see it - the way he lit up when he saw you...  I can't compete with that.  I don't think he wants to move on.  He's been playing at it, but his heart's not in it.  Everything he does he puts his heart into.  Not this, not us.  Look, if he lets you back in and you hurt him again...  I think his friends would kill you before I had a chance to but...'

                'I get it.'

                 'Good.'  Adam sighed and held out his hand.  Blaine took it without hesitation.  'I probably won't see you again.  I'm heading back to England - I was going to tell Kurt tonight.  Unless he gives me a reason to stay...'  Adam paused and looked at Blaine.  'Nice to finally meet you, Blaine.  Oh, and Santana was totally right, 'damn'.'  Blaine and Adam laughed.

                ‘It’s not really up to me, you know.’  Blaine’s earnest.  Adam just smiled sadly.

                ‘Ask him again, Blaine.’

 

After Adam had left in pursuit of Rachel, Kurt and Santana, Blaine had started to walk back in the direction of his apartment.  His headache had come back and his mind was whirring.  He knew tonight would be interesting but he felt like it was not real.  That nothing mattered.  Hell, maybe tomorrow he'd go back again and he'd find himself in a dorm, or, maybe in a different state.  It was as if his life was showing him the possible outcomes of each of his decisions.  His vision slipped and he stumbled slightly. 

What is real?  Would anything matter?  What if he didn't go tonight, what if he did?  What if he had another 'episode' and when he returned it was days/months/years later?  What if he went backwards again?  All he really had was the now.  No matter when that now was.  He had to live in this now for as long as it lasted.  If it wasn't real did it matter? 

Could he really keep putting his energy into trying to fix a relationship he is not going to be around to enjoy?

He re-entered his apartment, closing the door behind him, walked over to the sink in the bathroom.  He stood staring at his reflection in the mirror.  He felt so tired.  Like he hadn't slept in days.  He checked the time on his watch - he had a couple of hours before he had to make his way over to Callbacks.  He wandered into his bedroom, fell face first onto the bed and allowed himself to drift.


	18. But you're an itch that I can't scratch - I know you're coming back.  You've been gone so long you're fading and it takes all the time I can find just retaining thoughts of things we did while you were here.  But I know you will return my dear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Coming Back' – Gotye

She was nervous.  She had an interview today - not for a job, but about a job.  She was being interviewed as a Graduate by a company called High Fliers.  They were going to interview her 1:1 about her career so far and her work place, and then film her 'doing her job'.  So working at her PC and partaking in meetings.  The issue being that most of her job is classified...  She hates things like this but always gets chosen to do them.  She's spent the morning making sure her mock PowerPoint presentation looks OK and organising the fake meeting - calling mainly on her friends.  She's been in the office since 7am but can't believe it is still only 8:56am.  It feels like she has been here for hours, days, years.  She's still not sleeping restfully.  She's so tired.

Offices are weird places.  Directly in her eye line a man is using his chair to put on shoes, another is stretching in a way reminiscent of a child asking a teacher's permission, two women are having an animated discussion in Spanish, one man has the Honey Monster as his desktop background, another has a futuristic car...  Now they're having an argument about tuning lights on/off in the office.  Someone has found the remote control for the lights and turned them on, then someone else started having a strop saying they wanted them off over their desk... 

'Welcome to the Mad House' one of the older gents by her latest temporary desk tells her.  Smiling slightly.  She smiles back and laughs. 

 

 **me:**   How's it going?

 **Harry:**   frustrating

 **me:**   How so?

 **Harry:**   the reason i suspected a diagnostic wasnt flagging but was dismissed by Drew, is highly likely to be the reason it isnt flagging

 **me:**   Ah....

You're learning though.

 **Harry:**   well kind of

i just dont really have the knowledge to back my claims up

if that makes sense

if I say are you sure about something to Drew, he says yes and i cant really argue

 **me:**   Yeah.  I know

You will get there eventually though.

 **Harry:**   but on the plus side, i'm right!

 **me:**   Exactly

 **Harry:**   and i think its because my reason for why it wasnt working did sound silly

(but right)

 **me:**   Next time he says you’re wrong explain your point then ask him to explain why he thinks differently.

That's what I do.

Better than disagreeing openly.

 **Harry:**   tactful!

 **me:**   Yes

 **Harry:**   like it!

 **me:**   I am Queen of Tact

Plus it is respectful and you may learn something.

 **Harry:**   my reason was 'the hole isnt big enough'

 **me:**  Yeah.....

 **Harry:**   sounds silly

 **me:**   A little

 **Harry:**   true though!

just saying!

 **me:**   I'm nervous.

 **Harry:**   why?

when you being interviewed?

 **me:**   Meeting them at 12 at the gate.

 **Harry:**   you'll be fine!

you're a natural

 **me:**   Yeah.  Just hate this kind of thing.

 **Harry:**   the camera loves you

 **me:**   Don't make me come over there.

The camera hates me.

 **Harry:**   hehe!

 **me:**   I'll probably break it.

 **Harry:**   perhaps if they ask you a stupid question

breaking it would be justified

 **me:**   There are no stupid questions...... apparently.

 **Harry:**   lies!

 **me:**   Example?

 **Harry:**   Is a cabbage a fish?

stupid question

 **me:** http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSz6A2ZkW61YoMDl7u9OwdWUfnnRx_pDTcodIIDVD45i0q_kwy6iw

 **Harry:**   hahahaha!!

i had that on full screen then

not sure what martin thinks i'm doing now

 **me:**   Looking at cabbage fish.

Obviously.

 **Harry:**   the follow up question would be "why?"

 **me:**   Because it was research.  We were debating the truth of a statement.

 

The interview went better than expected.  She was constantly aware of being the representative of the company.  Not herself.  No one would be interested in her directly.  She was asked to attend the conference.  Down to London for the day.  Should be interesting.

 

It’s another day and her neck, shoulders and back are agony.  She’ll have a headache by 12 o’clock.  No escaping it.  That’s the problem with working at a computer – she cannot avoid sitting to work.  Cannot avoid typing or staring at a screen.  Actions which agitate her aching muscles.

  She meets with a friend for a coffee as an early lunch break then slogs through lunch.  A surprise newsy e-mail from an old teacher she admired is filled with excitement about projects overseas but peppered with bad news – battles with the NHS and cancer.  He, unprompted, writes an endorsement for her on LinkedIn.  She returns the favour.  Feeling appreciated for once.  Overwhelmed by how sweet her friend has been.  She uses the feeling to write endorsements for her friends she presently works with – wanting to share the love so to speak.

 

She endeavours to work on improving her body again.  She is presently disgusted by it.  She promises herself and begins by increasing the amount of water she drinks.  She’ll start cutting out the treats which are daily at present.  She’ll introduce dance again.  She will control this.  Not let it slide like she has been.  She will take control again.  She will own it again.  She is not in control of the pain in her neck and shoulder.  She never will be.  But she can control her own body if not her mind or anxiety or negativity.  It is a start.

She recalls a snippet of poetry she wrote years ago for a fierce Captain, pock-marked, scarred – a teacher who had served in Russia.  A teacher who liked and encouraged her.  A teacher who slipped her a book of poetry before he left.

The slip and squelch of the horse’s hooves

as it pulls the mud into moulded grooves.

They had been tasked with emulating the style of Seamus Heaney.  That line still etched in her mind over 10 years later.  The image crystal in its clarity.  So much becomes hazy; the lens smeared with the Vaseline of time.  This memory does not.  This memory is permanent.  She wonders why it should command such permanence over others.


	19. I am vindicated, I am selfish, I am wrong, I am right, I swear I'm right, I swear I knew it all along, and I am flawed - but I am cleaning up so well - I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Vindicated' – Dashboard Confessional

Blaine woke with the alarm he had set on his phone.  That was a start.  He was still here.  He was still in the room he’d gone to sleep in.  He got up and decided to change his t-shirt for a shirt open at the collar, no bow-tie.  He grabbed his sunglasses, keys, violin, and wallet, then headed out to Callbacks.  Refusing to overthink things.  Refusing to think.

The place was heaving and he seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, male and female.  He spotted Santana who whistled him over.  He replied with a smile and made his way towards the group consisting of friends and ex-companion-and-love-of-his-life.  Santana raised an eyebrow at the violin case then passed him a drink that smelt strongly of alcohol.

            ‘It’s dark rum and pineapple.’  She winked at him then downed hers.

            ‘Hey, Blaine!  What’s in the case?’  Rachel asked him leaning across the table, her décolletage directly in his eye line.

            ‘Violin,’ he replied with a wink as he took a cautious sip of the golden drink.  It was surprisingly good.

            ‘You know, pineapple is supposed to have a positive effect on the taste of your man juice.’  Santana said, winking at Kurt who had not said a word and seemed to be deep in thought.  Blaine laughed at Santana’s comment.

            ‘Odd, but true.’  He confirmed, his eyes flashing with mischief.  Rachel choked on her drink.  No reaction from Kurt.

            ‘So, Blaine.  I believe you promised me a duet.’  Santana grabbed his hand and led him onto the stage, relieving him of his violin as she did so.

            ‘I didn’t know Blaine played the violin!’  He heard Rachel hiss to Kurt as he followed Santana away from the table.  He didn’t catch whether or not Kurt replied.  He knew _this_ Kurt hadn’t known either.  It was odd, but though he felt like Kurt and he had known everything about each other there was a shocking amount they still had not known.  He was curious as to their reaction when they heard him play, but there would be time for that later.  It had not escaped him that Adam had not shown up - he must have had a discussion with Kurt which would explain the latter’s mood.

            ‘Your lead, stud.’  Santana winked at him.  Blaine laughed as Santana took a microphone and handed him a second. 

            ‘What happened to ‘hobbit’?’

            ‘You tell me.  I think you left that Lima looser in Ohio.’

The music started and Blaine supressed a chuckle.  The months of live performing he had done in the other New York, the intensive voice training after the attack, the confidence he’d gained he dredged up and fed on.  He was serenely calm, so utterly prepared for this.  He smiled.  This would be interesting.

Blaine owns the stage and Santana responds fluidly.  They dance as one responding to each other – a casual observer would swear they had rehearsed this. 

Their rendition of _Lessons in Love (All Day, All Night)_ by Neon Trees ended and Santana turned to smile at Blaine.

            ‘You got some moves that don’t make you look like an awkward manchild.  What else have you been hiding short stuff?’  Blaine threw Santana one of his blinding smiles.  He can barely hear her over the noise of the applause they have generated.

            ‘That would be for me to know and you to find out.’  He has to shout to be heard.

            ‘Oh, no you don’t.  You and me - we are going to have a discussion, Warbler boy.’

            ‘What could you possibly want from me?’  He handed the mic back to the sound crew as he held out a hand to help Santana down from the stage.  She frowned at him and, ignoring his proffered hand, hopped down unaided.

            ‘What have you done with Blaine, because last time I saw you, you were a raspberry gelmet-wearing, cheating, moping, sorry excuse for a hobbit.  Suddenly you’re in my city and you’re this tiny compact sex god and you have moves that aren’t solely reminiscent of 90s boy bands, with a voice that I swear just impregnated every man, woman and Rachel Berry in this hovel.  That doesn’t happen overnight, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear you’d suddenly gone straight when you ditched the dork look, or, maybe your ill-advised ‘hook up’ banged some fashion sense into you.  So spill - what’s with the personality and talent transplant?  Did you sell your fabulously sparkly bowtied soul?  What’s your play here, because I just so happen to know that a certain friend of mine who has recently been through some crap, a large chunk of which was your fault, is back on the Gay market, and I swear to all that is unholy that if you are putting this on, and if this is some sort of twisted joke I will end you.’

            ‘Wow.  Where did that come from?  And, no - I am not hiding anything.  This is who I am.  This is who I have always been it just took some time for me to find _me_.  To stop defining myself as belonging to someone else, to stop my life being about making other people happy, to stop worrying if everyone likes me all the time.  I had to lose everything to get here and now I’m finally comfortable with being me.  I think you get what I’m saying more than anyone else in this room.  And with regards to your recently single ‘friend’, that ball is not in my court.  I’m not you - this is not a game to me.’

            ‘Good to hear it.’  Seemingly satisfied she looped her arm through his and they made their way together back towards the table.   

            ‘Blaine Warbler!  Where did that come from?  I know the last time I saw you perform was under strained circumstances, but, Blaine, wow.  And coming from me that’s saying something.  We _have_ to perform together.  Even with all my professional training over the last year at NYADA I think you could actually keep up with me!  Oh!  Let’s reprise ‘Don’t You Want Me (Baby)’ – remember last time we sang that?  That was the first time we had sung together and we killed it then.  Imagine how good we’ll be now!’  Rachel was positively bubbling in such stark contrast to the intense silence emanating from Kurt.  Blaine smiled softly and went to retake his seat on the stool between the girls’.  He noticed Santana hadn’t joined him – she was busy talking animatedly to a blonde woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to Brittany. 

            ‘Sure, we could do that if you’d like.’  He took another sip of his drink and took the opportunity to look at Kurt while ‘listening’ to Rachel.  Kurt looked tired and stressed but not upset.  Certainly not heartbroken.  Blaine cringed inwardly – he knew what heartbroken Kurt looked like.  He was briefly overwhelmed by the urge to see the beautiful man across from him smile.  Truly smile like he had such a very long time ago.  He wondered whether getting Kurt to sing ‘Animal’ would work again?  The irony of singing a Neon Trees song with Santana was not lost on him.  He felt someone elbow him and he realised Rachel had still been talking to him and seemed to have expected a response.

            ‘Blaine!’

            ‘Sorry.  It’s been a long day.  Got lost in my thoughts for a moment there.’

            ‘I was saying that you should audition for the play I’m in.  The guy they’ve cast as the lead is good, but his voice is not as strong as mine and the director keeps telling me to tone it down!  You’d be perfect – you’re not too tall so I wouldn’t look tiny, and your voice is almost as good as mine now, and we know you can act so …’

His attention wavered again because Kurt was looking right at him.  Their eyes locked and the familiar tug was there – everything else fell away and there was Kurt and nothing else.  He knew without having to speak – Kurt was telling him they needed to talk.  He nodded slightly and stood in perfect synchronisation with Kurt.

                ‘Um… Rachel, would you excuse us for a minute?’

                ‘What?  Oh!  Sure.  I guess I’ll watch the drinks and things.’

                ‘Thank you.’  Kurt had turned and walked out of the building so Blaine followed.  He remembered the last time he had left a club with Kurt and smiled inwardly.  Stepping out into the downpour outside he was glad again he no longer used gel like he used to.  He had no idea when the rain had started but the world outside was a dark torrent.  He spotted Kurt and walked towards him.  Without speaking they fell into step and walked quickly to the shelter of the mouth of the nearest subway entrance.  They stood, face to face in silence, listening to the roar of the falling water.  Blaine lost track of time just bathing in the heat emanating from Kurt.  Their eyes met again – warm amber locked with ice.

                ‘I can’t do this anymore.’  Blaine was not wholly sure Kurt had spoken at first.

                ‘Do what, Kurt?’

                ‘This.  What is _this_?  As much as I hate to admit it, Santana was right.  We’re not friends, Blaine.  We’ve not been friends since Dalton.  I’m not sure we’ve ever been friends.  Not really.’

                ‘I know.’

                ‘So what now?’

                ‘I ruled out my say in how this goes, Kurt.’          

                ‘I’m terrified, Blaine.’  Kurt broke eye contact and looked down at his shoes.

                ‘What of?’  Gentle, soft.  Blaine knows how this bit works.  He’s lived through it three times now.  He gives Kurt the physical space he needs and waits.

                ‘You?  Me?  Us.  I wanted to hate you but I can’t.  I tried to move on, but I couldn’t.  I loved him.  But it wasn’t enough.  He wasn’t you.  We were perfect.  So perfect and we destroyed it.’

                ‘We had to grow apart to grow up, Kurt.  We had a teenage dream and it was beautiful but it was not an adult relationship.  It wasn’t healthy.’

                ‘What happens now?’

                ‘What do you want?’

                ‘It’s not going to be as easy as it was, is it?’

                ‘No.  We’ll fight and we’ll make-up and things will be tough.  And it will hurt because that’s what happens when you love someone.  But the good times will make it worth it.’  Kurt looked up at Blaine’s words.  Their eyes locked again – softer this time.

                ‘You have to learn to talk to me about the real stuff this time.  I won’t let you distance yourself when you get scared.’

                ‘I won’t let you change the subject when you don’t want to argue.’

                ‘I want to trust you, Blaine.’

                ‘I could never do anything like that again, Kurt.’

                ‘I know.’  Kurt reaches out and brushes his fingers over Blaine’s knuckles.  Blaine lets Kurt interlock their fingers.  ‘We’re not going to rush back into this.  We’re going to take it slow.  A lot has changed.  We’ve both changed.’

                ‘I want to get to know you again.’

                ‘I want to see you play the violin.  Since when do you play?’  Kurt smiled and Blaine laughed – he had been wondering when Kurt’s curiosity would win out.

                ‘I started to learn when I was 6.  I also play drums, guitar, pretty much anything with strings actually.  You know about the harmonica and the piano, um… oh, and the saxophone.’

                ‘I feel like I should have known that.’  Blaine laughed again.  ‘What’s with the new look?  Don’t get me wrong – you look, well, gorgeous, but it’s so different.  Everything about you is so different…’

                ‘I grew up, Kurt.’

                ‘I think we both have.  I am so sorry I didn’t make time for you.  I’ve replayed the months before over and over – I knew how you felt about me moving on without you in New York and I did it anyway.  I didn’t even try.  I’m so sorry, Blaine.’

                ‘That’s then.  This is now.’

                ‘OK.  We should still talk about it.’

                ‘Maybe over coffee - somewhere warm and not in a filthy subway at,’ Blaine glanced at his watch, ‘10pm?’  It was Kurt’s turn to laugh.  ‘I’ve missed your smile.’  Kurt blushed.  ‘Come on, the ladies in your life will be wondering whether I’ve kidnapped you.  Santana has already accused me of stashing the real Blaine away somewhere.  I like my body parts attached, Kurt.’

                ‘She didn’t!  Actually, I believe she probably did.  Oh, one last question, for now.’

                ‘OK.’

                ‘How did you afford to buy an apartment?’

                ‘I turned 18.’

                ‘You say that like it should mean something to me.’

                ‘I can’t believe we’ve never had this talk…’

                ‘What talk?’

                ‘The money talk.’

                ‘Oh.’

                ‘Trust fund.’

                ‘Oh!  Oh…’

                ‘You’re cute when you don’t know what to say.’


	20. Is it still me that makes you sweat?  Am I who you think about in bed when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off your dress?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off' – Panic! At The Disco

                Rotator cuff Disease.  Apparently it is not a disease, not really, but it still scares her when she hears it.  The x-ray she finally managed to convince her GP to order came back.  Her shoulder is damaged.  The pain is real.  It is not just in her head.  Now she has to see a specialist.  A Mr. not a Dr.  She must remember this time. 

                He’s young and Scottish and handsome and he takes her seriously as he shows her the bit of bone that looks like a serrated knife in her shoulder.  He injects a steroid into her shoulder and warns her that she will be in pain the next day.

He was not lying.  Her arm feels as if it was made of lead.  But she already has more movement in it and she can already feel that the joint itself is no longer painful.  She looks forward to a time where she is no longer in permanent pain.

                She can feel him, tugging at her mind but she tries to remain present.  Tries to stay there.  Tries to stay in the present.

Friends visit and it’s a welcome distraction – they travel to National Trust properties and it is almost like it used to be.  The sun is strong but they do not burn; she bathes in it.

She joins some work friends on a 12 mile hike that was supposed to be 6 miles and finished by lunch.  She leads for most of the way, setting the pace and trying to carve a path through the stinging nettles, braving the pain and stamping them down so that the others will have an easier passage.  She gets back after 4pm having lasted on one bottle of water and the little she had for breakfast.  She has sunstroke and sleeps through to morning.

She fills her evenings with her husband, between the gym and watching ‘Hannibal’ and ‘Carnivale’.

She writes.  She writes.

 

                Blaine takes a moment as his vision clears.  He’s in a coffee shop.  With Kurt.  Kurt looks concerned as he runs a thumb over Blaine’s knuckles.

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘Oh, sorry.  I guess I…um…guess I didn’t sleep too well last night.’  He feigns a yawn and shoots Kurt an apologetic look.  ‘So where were we?’

                ‘Look, Blaine.  I know talked last night, but I wanted to do this properly.’

                ‘Go on…’  Kurt looks nervous and Blaine shoots him what he hopes would pass as an encouraging look.

                ‘You said we needed to get to know each other again.  And I agree, don’t get me wrong.  But I was wondering what your angle is here because you’ve always been pretty clear about wanting to get back together and suddenly you’re all for taking it slow?’

                ‘Kurt, I love you.  You know that.  I just don’t want to mess this up…’

                ‘OK.  I just had a flashback to the Lima Bean.’

Blaine glared playfully at Kurt, pursing his lips slightly.

                ‘You know what I mean.’

                ‘I really don’t.  Look.  Go out to dinner with me tonight?  We’ll go see a show.  Make a date of it.  See how things go?’

Blaine felt his heart rate increase at Kurt’s suggestion.  This Kurt didn’t want to play the friend card.  Kurt was asking him out on a date.

                ‘I’d really love that, Kurt.’

                ‘Good.  Now, drink up.  I want to see this place of yours.’

                ‘You mean you want to help me decorate it.’

                ‘There are more colours than navy, Blaine.’

 

                The next few weeks pass and Blaine and Kurt spend almost every day together between Kurt’s work and Blaine’s.  Blaine, in a repeat of the previous time he lived in New York but didn’t (he’s still not sure if that was real), goes to the venues he played at and manages to get some gig work as a solo artist.  In their time off together they do all the stereotypical tourist things – visit the New York Aquarium, go to the top of the Empire State Building at sun set, spend a day at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) alternately criticising and praising exhibits and each other’s taste.  Kurt spends more and more time at Blaine’s staying the night in the spare room more often than he spends the night in his own bed in the loft.  Santana points this out to them loudly whenever she sees them together.  It takes two more months for Kurt to make a move and when he does Blaine melts into him, giving himself over utterly.

They wake in Blaine’s apartment as has become usual, but this time they both wake in the same bed.  Kurt wakes first, a little disoriented, to see Blaine’s sleep tousled curls.  Kurt takes the time to look, really look at the man in front of him – his eyelashes long and dark fanning his cheekbones as he slumbers, his lips slightly swollen from the previous night’s activities, the dark bruises he left on Blaine’s neck and shoulder in the throes of passion.  Kurt grins, positively grins.

Blaine wakes to the feeling someone is watching him, starting, his heart hammering in his chest, and hits his head on the bedhead.  Kurt has to bite his knuckle to keep from laughing as Blaine orients himself and the previous night’s activities come back to him.  Blaine grins.

                ‘Morning.’

                ‘Good morning,’ Kurt laughs.

                ‘So…’

                ‘I don’t remember you being this disoriented in the mornings.’

                ‘Give me a break.  It’s only…’  He rolls to check the time on his alarm clock then groans.

                ‘10am.  Yes.’  Kurt laughs as Blaine pulls a face.

                ‘Why am I still so tired?’  He drapes an arm across his eyes as Kurt sits up and stretches.

                ‘Do you really want me to answer that one?’

                ‘I think I know the answer.’

                ‘Good.  I would have hoped that it was memorable.’  Kurt leans over and places a chaste kiss to Blaine’s lips.  Blaine moves his arm from over his eyes and cups Kurt’s cheek.  Kurt smiles. 

                ‘You are stunning.’

Kurt blushes slightly, lost for a moment in Blaine’s sincerity before Blaine rolls them both in a mirror of the previous evening so that he is on top of Kurt.

                ‘What are you doing?’

                ‘I wanted to check something…’  Blaine lifts the covers off them both and sits back taking in Kurt’s naked form below him.  Kurt rolls his eyes.

                ‘Everything to your liking?’ 

Blaine growls and starts kissing every inch of skin he can see.  Kurt moans and lets Blaine worship his skin.  All worries, all thoughts evaporating.  His stomach rumbles loudly and Blaine grins wolfishly.

                ‘Hungry?’

                ‘Don’t stop.’

                ‘There’s plenty of time for more of that later.  Come on – I’ll cook.’  He drags Kurt out of bed and into the kitchen and Kurt tries not to think about how they are both ridiculously naked and turned on and how oddly domestic and right the situation is.  ‘How do pancakes sound?’

Kurt can only nod.


	21. I'll be your water bathing you clean - the liquid peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'I’ll Be Yours' – Placebo

**_June 2013_ **

She drives to stay with her grandparents rather than checking into the student accommodation that has been organised for her team for the event.  It’s a good excuse to spend more time with them than the fleeting half day once a month that she usually gets by the time she’s driven there then has to leave to drive back. 

The course itself runs pretty smoothly and the kids seem to enjoy it.  She finds it stressful and cannot wait to get back to her grandparents’ house to some semblance of normality where she is not permanently watching what she says and does.  Where she is not a company representative.  Where she is just _is_. 

She misses her husband’s calming influence.  He really is her rock and she underestimated how much she relies on him to keep her sane.  She misses the physical aspects of their relationship over the week as well.  Simple things like hugs or a kiss in the morning before she leaves and a kiss when she returns.

**_November 2013_ **

                Blaine feels like he is floating.  They had spent the entire weekend between the bed and the kitchen reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies in a similar way that they had spent the previous months reacquainting minds.  His body hums with pleasure - it is as if Kurt has charged his cells back up and he has energy again.  He showers and takes his time in front of the mirror tracing the darkening bruises that speckle his neck and shoulders from Kurt’s enthusiastic owning.  He feels whole again.  Loved.  He had used to feel embarrassed when Kurt had marked him in such obvious places before, now however he finds he loves them.  He loves the message they broadcast to the world.  He belongs to someone.

He changes and makes his way over to meet Kurt at the loft.  They had not really spoken about what this development meant.  Blaine knows what it means to him but he finds he needs it confirmed.   He needs to hear Kurt say it.  He needs Kurt to tell him it wasn’t a mistake; that they weren’t just ‘friends’ this time. 

‘Wanky.’  Santana answers the door with a grin and a wink at Blaine’s bruises – he hadn’t even tried to cover them up.  He grins and winks back covering the fluttering of his heart and the unease building in his veins.  ‘Kurt!’  Santana calls as she retakes her seat on the couch in front of the telly.  ‘Your boy’s here for another round!  There’s still some skin you haven’t sucked hard enough on!’

Kurt appears and the room lights up with his smile.  Blaine’s reflects his.

                ‘Whatever you’re doing to each other keep it up.  Hummel’s actually tolerable to be around at the moment.’  Santana breaks the silence.  ‘I mean, he takes twice as long in the bathroom getting ready when he is actually here and not shacked up with you, but you’re fucking the bitchy right out of him so there’s only Berry to contend with.’

Kurt ignores her and instead kisses Blaine.

                ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again today, is everything ok?’  The feint crease between Kurt’s eyebrows deepens and Blaine reads concern and doubt and a trace of fear in Kurt’s eyes.

                ‘No.  Everything is fine.  I just…  Want to grab a coffee with me?’  Blaine glances at Santana as an explanation and Kurt nods in understanding then grabs his jacket.

They make their way out but don’t actually stop anywhere.  They just walk.  Eventually Kurt stops Blaine gently.

                ‘What’s wrong?’

                ‘I just…’  Blaine sighs.  ‘It meant something this time, right?’

The sincerity and fear in Blaine’s eyes almost breaks Kurt’s heart.

                ‘Oh, honey.  Of course it means something.  It always means something.’  Kurt overcompensates and pulls Blaine into a kiss, his hand gently rubbing the back of Blaine’s neck in reassurance.  ‘You are everything to me.  Do you understand that?’

They stood tangled in each other’s arms for a moment foreheads touching, just breathing.  An older woman tutted under her breath as she passed mumbling something incoherent.  They hardly noticed.

                ‘Blaine?’  Kurt broke the silence.  Their eyes met.  ‘I want us to be us again.’  Blaine smiled.  ‘I’d like to know how you’d feel about something though.’

Blaine frowned slightly.

                ‘What is it?’

                ‘Nothing bad!’  Kurt quickly reassured him.  ‘I was thinking.  We’ve been pretty much living together at yours for months now and I was wondering how you’d feel about me moving in on a more permanent basis?  That way I wouldn’t have to keep going back to the loft to get clothes and the girls would have more space and…’

                ‘…That would actually be perfect.’

                ‘Really?’

                ‘Of course.’

 

                Rachel was furious at first until Kurt assured her that he would continue to pay his half of the bills (Santana contributed when she remembered to) until the rent was up for renewal, and then she went between being happy for Kurt and sad that her _best friend_ was all grown up and going to be living on a different side of the city.  Santana had rolled her eyes and smiled genuinely at Kurt then helped him pack with a ‘told you - you love him’.

Kurt had no idea how he had managed to acquire so much stuff over the time he had lived in the loft with Rachel - he had had to go out twice to get more boxes and packing tape.  Blaine’s apartment was already furnished so he had agreed to leave the table and chairs as well as other bits of furniture he had purchased for the place over the year. 

Blaine had spent the week between attending classes, making room in the apartment for Kurt’s clothes, and helping Kurt pack.  His stomach was constantly knotted and he was wound tighter than a boa constrictor around its prey.  He had hired a small van for the next day to help move Kurt’s things and had spent the night awake staring at the ceiling letting all his fears, hopes, doubts and dreams battle it out.

**_May 2005_ **

                Her mother had called to tell her that she needed to take the cats and whatever furniture she wanted because her mother was moving in with her ex-boss and long-term partner.  She had not been surprised.  Her mother and partner had found a flat that overlooked the river in a posh part of the city that had two bedrooms so her brother would have a room.  No thought for her.  She was at university in halls of residence.  She had been about to sort a student let.  Now she needed to find a private let (more expensive) that was unfurnished and would let her have pets before she finished the summer term so that she would have somewhere to live over the summer. 

                ‘I’m doing something for myself for a change.’  Her mother had told her.

She had sighed and got on the phone to the letting agents.

She found a place – a little detached cottage within cycling distance of university, and had moved in.  Her father had no base in the UK so had agreed to help with the rent – he would only spend a day here or there at the house, usually between flying to work or flying to the US.

She was so lonely.

**_March 2007_ **

                When it had come close to graduation she and her boyfriend had decided that whoever got a job in the other’s town first would move in with them.  He got a job close to her place the day before she got offered a job close to his.  He moves to live with her.

They develop a fondness for the lines of Kit Marlowe’s ‘Passionate Shepherd to his Love’.

                Come live with me and be my love

                And we will all the pleasures prove.


	22. It’s complicated when you gravitate towards yourself, on the other hand it's hard to talk to anyone else. 'Cause I've never, never had so much to gain and threw it all away, and if I ever, ever had the chance again I'd probably do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Never Never' - SBTRKT

**Interlude - A Story in Objects**

1\. For his birthday (their first one together):

  * The complete’ Will and Grace’ box set on DVD
  * A 1930s illustrated copy of ‘Alice in Wonderland’
  * A collection of 6 vintage postcards of Bristol
  * A copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Love Poems
  * An antique fortune teller’s cup and saucer for reading tea leaves



2\. Two amplifiers and five guitars

3\. A custom hand-and-a-half bastard sword with leather scabbard

4\. A Victorian steamer trunk in need of restoration, with key

5\. A shelf full of tickets, leaflets and guidebooks for National Trust and English Heritage sites

6\. A storage locker filled with boxes of books, CDs and odd furniture

7\. A  cabinet displaying

  * A Moorcroft bowl with a pink and purple flower on a green background
  * An art deco silver plate tea service and a sugar shaker
  * A hand painted comport with bird and flower decoration on a blue background, two old silver salt pigs and a silver inkwell



8\. For his wedding gift:

  * A chocolate solid Tonkinese kitten he names Dinah after Alice’s cat



9\. Three rings – one diamond, two plain

10\. Two Thomas Kent wall clocks (brown and cream), one early 1900s chiming clock, various broken clocks (for parts), one station clock sans glass

11\. 6 photo frames each containing a photo of a couple’s wedding arranged as a family tree

12\. A cross-trainer which takes up space they do not have

13\. One arts and crafts brass and mahogany wall mount in art nouveau style, from it hanging a small birdcage filled with potpourri

14\. An early 1900s servants’ bell in mahogany and brass

15\. Fridge magnets holding postcards from friends and family abroad from places they have never been


	23. Here comes another fall from grace – I’m always falling on my face.  Come on lay with me ‘cause I’m on fire.  For what it’s worth I’d tear the sun in three to light up your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'For What It’s Worth' – Placebo

                His head is pounding, his vision blurred, and his mouth tastes like stale alcohol, cigarettes and vomit.  He rolls over and reaches out for Kurt.  His hand clasps at cold empty sheets.  He remembers a club, drinking, dancing, he remembers arguing.  Arguing with Kurt.  _Shit._   His heart races, his stomach knotting uncomfortably.  He reaches for his phone and stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen though he knows Kurt won’t be there.  He flicks through his messages – none from Kurt.  He dials his number.

The phone rings.  No answer.  Redial.

No answer.  Redial.

No answer.  Redial.

                ‘He doesn’t want to talk to you.’

                ‘Rachel, put him on the phone, please.’

                ‘Leave him alone, Blaine.  You should never have come to New York.’

Dial tone.

‘Fuck!’  Blaine throws his phone across the room.

He balls his hands into fists and presses them to his eyes.  Well at least he knows where Kurt is.  That he’s safe and with friends.  Blaine paces while he thinks.  How did it get from the best weeks of his life to this?  They’d been happy – it had been perfect living with Kurt.  They’d been perfect.  Why had he agreed to go out with Kurt’s Vogue.com friends?  Why had he agreed to drink?  Every time he drank bad things happened.  He groaned.  Had he really sang Maroon 5’s ‘Payphone’ to Kurt after their argument?

His ringtone startled him and he made a dash for the phone thankful that it didn’t seem to be damaged.

                ‘What do you want, Blaine?’

                ‘Kurt, I’m so sorry.  Can we talk?  Please?  I was drunk and I shouldn’t have….  Please, Kurt.’

                ’10 minutes.’

                ‘Thank you.’

                ‘You’re buying the coffee.’

                ‘Deal.’  Blaine smiled slightly.  He could hear Rachel badmouthing him in the background.  ‘I love you, Kurt.’

                ‘If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be doing this.’

                ‘I know.’

Kurt rang off and Blaine hurriedly showered noticing his right foot was covered in blood only as the water turned red.  He flinched and examined the injury – he must have stepped on some glass or something.  He’d live. 

With fresh clothes and fresher breath he practically ran from the apartment to the coffee shop, his sunglasses shielding his oversensitive eyes from the glare of the day, hair curling wildly as it dried.  Part of him almost bought Kurt flowers but he forced himself not to.  This wasn’t a flowers kind of apology.

Kurt wasn’t there when he arrived so he ordered the coffees – an espresso for himself immediately, to be followed by a medium drip and a non-fat mocha when a tall chestnut haired, blue eyed man joined him.  He took a seat with a good view of the window and the door and downed the espresso in an attempt to appease his throbbing head.  He massaged his temples closing his eyes for a moment as he waited.

                ‘You look like crap.’

Blaine opened his eyes and smiled.

                ‘Thanks.’

Kurt smiled slightly and took the seat opposite Blaine, thanking the waitress as she set their coffees down.

They sat in silence for a moment.

                ‘Kurt, I…’

                ‘Be quiet a moment.’  Blaine closed his mouth and waited, fingers idly fiddling with the sugar packets in front of him.  ‘I just had a 20 minute lecture from Rachel about how I should just get over you and end this for once and for all and move on.’

                ‘I’m sorry, Ku…’

                ‘Shhhhh.’  Kurt took a breath and then looked into Blaine’s eyes.  ‘Do you really trust me that little?’

Blaine bit his lip and rolled his head back slightly before looking at Kurt again. 

                ‘It was not about you.’

                ‘What was it about then?  Help me understand here, Blaine, because that - last night - that wasn’t you.  If it was I wouldn’t be here right now having a coffee with you because I’d be gone.’

                ‘I just…’  He took a breath and reached for Kurt’s hand.  Kurt didn’t pull away.  ‘I love you so much, Kurt.  And I just got you back.  I’m scared.  I’ve been scared since the day I fell in love with you.  I’m scared you will find someone better.  I’m scared because you deserve someone better.’  Kurt rolled his eyes.  ‘I’ve always known that, Kurt.  And…  Last night, I’d been drinking, and I let that fear get the better of me.’

                ‘It was just dancing, Blaine.’

                ‘I know.’

                ‘Dancing with friends.  Innocent dancing.  Not even PG-13.’

                ‘I know.’

                ‘You listen to me now.  There is only one guy for me, and he’s sitting right opposite me.  The other guys in my life – they’re just friends.  The other men out there in clubs and at work and on the street mean nothing to me.  They’re not you.’

                ‘I’m so sorry.  I keep screwing everything up.’

                ‘You can’t let insecurities build up like that again.  You have to talk to me before it gets bad.  Understand me?’  Blaine nodded.  Kurt squeezed his hand lightly and smiled. 

                ‘God, your friends must think I’m a complete jerk.’  Blaine groaned.

                ‘They could see you’d had too much.  I’ll talk to them.’  Kurt took a sip of his coffee then looked thoughtfully at Blaine.  ‘Can I ask you something?’

                ‘Anything.  You know that.’

                ‘I’ve been doing some thinking and some research…’  Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed and Kurt gently rubbed circles onto the skin on the back of Blaine’s hand in a soothing manner.  ‘I’d like to try something.  I think it might help you.’

                ‘When?’  Blaine bit his lip.

                ‘Maybe tonight?’

                ‘You’re coming home?’

                ‘Yes.’

Blaine felt like he could breathe again.   Kurt smiled and he returned it.

 

                Blaine was kneeling on the floor, his head resting against Kurt’s thigh as he sat on the dining chair he used at his dressing table.  Blaine was blissed out - he had nothing to focus on but simply being.  Kurt had asked him to kneel by his side.  Blaine had complied without a thought – his mind freed by the request.  The buzzing in his brain had stopped, he had nothing to think about; it was freeing.  He felt as though he was floating.

 

                As the weeks passed things got easier between them again.  They’d talked about how Blaine had felt to see Kurt with a group of friends none of whom he had known, especially when one had been flirting heavily with him.  Kurt made time to fill Blaine in on his day when he got home from work.  Blaine reciprocated.  Kurt made Blaine talk to him about his fears and his dreams.  Kurt reciprocated.  They ended most days curled together on the sofa watching trash telly.  On days when Blaine seemed stressed or withdrawn Kurt would ask him to kneel beside him as he worked.  Blaine always relaxed immediately into his leg as he sank to his knees without complaint.

It had started small – whenever Kurt asked Blaine to make a trivial decision (which film to watch, what to eat that night, etc.) Kurt had noticed that he couldn’t.  Important decisions were no problem, but the simple stuff that didn’t matter would stress him.  The first time Kurt had told Blaine what to do he had been nervous but Blaine had not seemed to notice – in fact he had just done what Kurt had effectively commanded, happier for having the pressure removed.  Kurt enjoyed seeing Blaine happy – he enjoyed knowing how to alleviate the stress as it began rather than letting it build.  His reward was a very chilled out happy Blaine who was passionate and fun to be around. 

They had not spoken about it specifically – not wanting to label – but Kurt knew Blaine had noticed. 

The first time Kurt had ordered for Blaine at a restaurant in front of Rachel and Santana had resulted in Kurt having to tell Rachel to keep her nose out.  Santana had simply raised an eyebrow.  Blaine had chosen to pretend to ignore the exchange.

It started when Blaine’s morning had gone from bad when he had dropped the box of cereal and it had exploded over the kitchen floor, to worse when Blaine had forgotten his wallet and had had to return to the apartment to fetch it after getting more than half way to class.  It had escalated when Blaine came home after a day where one of the bitchier girls in Blaine’s improvisation class had seemingly made it her mission to dismiss every idea Blaine had had for their group project.  Kurt should have known that something was wrong because Blaine had gone straight to their room without saying a word.  But he didn’t notice because he had had a great day and was about to have a great evening having dinner with friends from work.  He’d popped his head around the door when Blaine didn’t reappear dressed for dinner to find Blaine lay face down on the bed still in his street clothes.  The following argument was messy and had ended with Blaine being unable to breathe and Kurt leaving to go to dinner without him, fuming.  As the cold winter wind hit him Kurt realised what had happened and spent the evening distanced and thinking.

The result was a brown leather cuff.  As soon as Kurt had seen it he had known it was perfect.  The cuff was simple in design from a distance but the inside was lined with a stunning teal.  Kurt had given Blaine the cuff one evening with a simple instruction – if you feel overwhelmed, or down, or unable to cope for any reason wear this and I’ll look after you.  The implication left hanging in the air.  Unspoken.


	24. Can you hear me calling out your name?  You know that I'm falling and I don't know what to say.  Come along, baby, we better make a start - you better make it soon before you break my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Everywhere' – Fleetwood Mac

                Blaine hadn’t known what to feel about the cuff at first.  He felt overwhelmed.  But it was perfect.  He knew it was perfect.  The blue reminded him of Kurt’s eyes, the brown of his own.  It was weeks before he felt that he needed it – he tried to cope by himself but he could see the way his snappy short responses hurt Kurt.  He hated feeling like that: angry and guilty - especially when he had no reason to feel either. 

The feel of the soft, supple leather tight against his pulse point did something to Blaine.  It felt like being owned.  Like belonging to someone.  His mind flitted to the feeling of a necktie around his throat – a hand pulling him, leading him by it into the hotel room.  Blaine felt himself respond physically with mild surprise.  He had always liked wearing ties and bowties…

He was anxious when he walked back into the living room to Kurt.  They had not discussed this.  They had not discussed what Blaine needing this meant.  He’d been so surprised the first time Kurt had asked him to kneel for him – the relief had been exquisite.  He wondered what had made Kurt think to research in the first place.  He wondered why Kurt had bothered.  He wasn’t worth this.  He was a freak for needing this.  For responding to this. 

He was brought away from his dark thoughts by Kurt’s command to kneel.  Blaine hadn’t detected Kurt notice him.  Blaine sunk to his knees and let himself float.

 

                She didn’t know why she was on the floor.  Her knees hurt from the pressure on the solid wood beneath her but she did not feel the need to move.  She felt a hand idly stroking her hair; she hummed in appreciation and leant her head against his thigh.

Time was an abstract concept – she was aware of its passing but its units were inconsequential.  Somewhere clocks were ticking, somewhere rubies and quartz crystals were vibrating, somewhere electrons were changing energy levels.  Inconsequential.  Regardless, they would continue as sure as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.  One of the great certainties.  That and death.

The thought tickled.  Death.  She dealt with death on a daily basis.  Without it she would have no job.  She had spent hours musing on the subject – about how it was feared, yet so utterly natural.  About how the fear of it had spawned great works of fiction and art – attempts to immortalise the self in order to be remembered long after the physical had decayed and been absorbed and reborn.  How that fear could result in good works, charitable efforts, or be exploited with talks of punishments after death or by opportunists with creative business ideas.  She would not have a job were it not for death.

Something was wrong.  Where was she?  How was she here?  Her skin prickled and she felt sweat bead on her skin.  Her breathing ramped.  This was not right.  She was not supposed to be here.  The hand stopped running its fingers through her hair.

‘Blaine?’

 

                He was certain he had been dreaming.  He was overtired.  Yes.  That was it.  Kurt had not been convinced.

                ‘You weren’t you, Blaine.  It was utterly creepy.  Your posture was all wrong and your accent changed, your gestures, the faces you pulled – it was all wrong.’

He could not explain it.  Kurt had been absolutely freaked out – that may be an understatement.  He had booked Blaine into the doctors under an emergency appointment and had rushed him there.  It was like déjà vu – sitting in the waiting room again, the sickening pine smell of the disinfectant, but this time he was not in disguise or under a false name.

The doctor was the same.  The questions were the same and like the last time Kurt fielded most of the questions.  This time however Blaine was more forthcoming about how long it had gone on for – about the time jumps, the headaches, the hallucinations, the _other_ lives, everything.  Kurt had gone translucent and utterly quiet.  He may have lost it a little.

Blaine had been admitted immediately – no shoe laces, no belt, just a hospital gown.  He sat cross-legged on the hard bed in the white room with his head in his hands.  His headache had come back with full force and he had vomited violently as he had been led to the room.  The orderlies cleaned him up with deft hands and sympathetic smiles. 

He had no idea where Kurt was.  He had no idea what the pills they had forced him to take were and he had no idea what was going to happen.  They’d taken so many blood samples his arm felt heavy and he had heard talk of CT scans and MRIs.

They would not let him walk to the CT scanner – he was transported like an invalid in a wheelchair and helped onto the bed.  The iodine injection had been a cold burn in his veins and he had the sensation he was floating as the machine moved around him.

Back in the white room.  Blindingly bright.  He was given an injection and he was plagued by vivid dreams of being chased through dark car parks by an unknown assailant. 

He was losing it.  He was losing it.

He had no visitors.  Maybe he was not allowed them.  That was preferable to the other option – that no one wanted to visit.

His head ached constantly now - there was a ‘hot spot’ by his right temple, and his ears rang with tinnitus that would not abate.  He was constantly nauseous and could not keep any food or liquid down.  They had hooked him up to an IV to stop him from dehydrating. 

No one would answer his questions.

Another CT scan and hushed voices.  An MRI and another load of pills.  The white room.  The white room.  More blood tests – he began to suspect they were merely selling his blood on the black market and keeping him like a heifer for milk.  Paranoia.

His dreams were dark – he was chased every night.  He woke soaked and screaming.  He was covered in spiders and fleas.  He scratched at them until his skin bled but the itch felt so good. 

They strapped down his ankles and wrists after that.  He calmed with the restraint.  He stopped asking questions.  He stopped breathing.


	25. I need a change of skin – I need a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Kitty Litter' – Placebo

                Breathing is a struggle – she doesn’t know if it is because of the high pollen count or the panic attack she just experienced.  Probably both.  When she takes a lungful of air it feels as though it is not reaching the bottom of her lungs.  She focuses on taking small, shallow breaths and tries not to panic again.

She has no idea what went wrong – maybe it was a glitch?  She is used to being the one in control – yes, he has nudged before in her mind but this time was different.  This time he took over and suddenly she was there at Kurt’s feet and not in her living room.  It was so vivid.  She had been terrified that it would be permanent.  Kurt had utterly flipped.  She had tried passing as _Blaine_ but to no success which was ironic really. 

When she had ‘come to’, so to speak, she had found one of her guitars out as if she had been playing.  She had not played in months.  The pads of her fingers were sore from the metal strings as the calluses had softened over time.

That was not supposed to happen.  It had never happened before.  Not while she was conscious.  Not without her permission.

She was genuinely scared which surprised her.  She had longed to escape her existence which was why she had begun experimenting really.  That had also been a form of control.  She had always been in control of her mind.  Hadn’t she?

She needed to reset.  To start again.  To fix this.  She cannot afford for it to happen again.  What if she gets trapped?  What if she’s _not there_ when she’s at work, or with her friends, or with her husband? 

A deeper breath.  She feels so lethargic all of a sudden – like she could sleep for a week and not feel refreshed. 

Yes, it is time for a reset.  She’d never attempted a full-reset before.  Fleetingly she wondered what affect it would have on Kurt or the others.  She had noticed that Blaine seemed distressed by the minor jumps backwards more so than the forward lags.  She had to be careful - had to make sure she wiped all previous versions away this time. 

She took a breath - this one was easier.  She knew what she needed to do.  She logged on to the system and pulled up the relevant file.

Delete.

Refresh.


	26. What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you, and what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up that you're OK?  I'm falling to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Breakeven' – The Script

It had not gone well.

He'd been standing there at Mr. Schuster and the then Ms. Pillsbury's successful wedding.  The rest of the New Directions were there - old and new.  They'd won Regionals.  They were on a high.

The little black box had been in his pocket all day.  The feel of it, weight of it, shape of it reminding him of what he had to do.  One last ditch attempt to get him to see, to understand how Blaine felt about him.  How he was truly his soul mate - his everything.  How he could never hurt him again.  The weight of that promise weighing his pocket down but somehow lightening his heart, until it wasn't anymore.  Until his palms were sweating and the familiar doubt started to kick in.  What was he even doing?  They weren't even together.  It wouldn't have been the first time that Blaine had seen something that wasn't there through sheer force of will and denial - Jeremiah had been the prime example of that.  His heart hammered in his chest.  He thought back to the coffee shop, to their dinner with Liz and Jan from the jewellery store, to the stage where Kurt had chosen to dance with him during ‘For Once In My Life’.  The looks - they had been real right?  His breath hitched as he remembered Kurt's many 'we're not together's.  But they _were_ meant to be...  Time healed all, right?  They were better friends now because of it.  Arguably better prepared for an adult relationship than they had been before Blaine's indiscretion.  Before he messed everything up. 

Kurt hadn't pulled his hand away from Blaine's when he'd offered his support in the Lima Bean with Mercedes and Mike, had he?  He'd pulled it closer like they always used to.  Kurt had taken his arm in the hallway after Blaine had bottled out of proposing to Kurt instead asking him to stay for Regionals.  Kurt had actually seemed like he'd been hoping Blaine was going to ask a different question.  He'd _known_ that Blaine hadn’t really been asking about Regionals.  Hadn’t he?

Blaine shook his head.  He needed to stop thinking.  It was like he'd tried to explain to Burt, to Tina, to Sam - he was Kurt's, in every way in which someone could be someone else's.  He needed to show _him_ that.  Blaine steeled himself and joined the circle of his closest friends next to Kurt.  His fingers teased at the box, running a thumb nail against the grain and smiling slightly at the texture of the black velvet.  He slid it out of his pocket and behind his back.  He was smiling, but he wasn't aware of what was happening around him - celebratory cheering for the new Mr and Mrs Schuster most likely.  His world had concentrated down to two things - Kurt and the box.  There was nothing else.  His vision seemed to have narrowed down; his breathing was louder than the dull cheers and speeches, his heart beat staccato above even that.  He was certain Kurt could hear it - but he seemed oblivious, smiling and laughing with their friends.  Now - it had to happen now.

He stepped forwards.

'Um... I'd like to say something, to ask something, of Kurt, if that's OK?'

This was it.  The blood was rushing in his ears.  He barely registered the responses of his friends as he sank slowly to one knee.

 

Her heart was pounding and all she could feel was Guilt rising up.  What would her mother think?  She felt too young and too old at once.  She was aware of his breathing next to her - more ragged than normal, tense.  Her mother would kill her.

_Who cares what your bitch of a mother thinks?  She ruins EVERYTHING for you!  She makes everything about her.  This is about you.  About you and that wonderful man going through emotional hell right next to you._

She stared intently at the fishpond opposite where they sat on the bench as if it were the single most interesting thing on the planet.  They'd been sat there for what felt like hours.  Waiting.  She knew he was waiting.  First it had been for the older couple to leave that part of the garden - to leave them with some privacy.  Then for the next couple to take photos and move on.  She'd tried to suggest they move on, but he'd resisted.  He'd not spoken since.  He was going to do it.  She'd been almost begging him to for months.  Her grandparents, his grandparents, his parents, aunts, uncles, friends had all asked when he was going to - they'd talked about it often enough. 

Last time she had come back from visiting her mother in the US she had tried to propose to him - but he had laughed it off.  Last time they had gone on holiday together, to Kent - where they were now, she'd seen a ring box and her heart had fluttered all week.  He hadn't asked her then.  Much later she'd asked him about that ring box – cufflinks apparently.  But now, here and now, on the longest day of the year, in glorious sunshine, in a garden that shared her name he was going to ask her, and she had never been more scared in her life. 

She almost missed him say it.

'Marry me?'

 

'Oh God, oh God, oh God...' A mantra. 'Blaine!'  Hissed - an attempt to get him to stop?  As if he stopped now no one would have noticed and they could go back to pretending or whatever they were doing before.

'Kurt, you are the world to me.  I know I've not been good at showing you or at communicating my feelings in the past, but you are it for me, Kurt.  You deserve it all - your name in lights, the penthouse apartment in Manhattan, the crowds of sycophants all wearing the latest Kurt Hummel designs...  I would do everything in my power to make it all happen for you, Kurt.  But I know you'll get there and I can't wait to see it...'  He paused.  He couldn't bring himself to look up.  'A couple of weeks ago we had an assignment - it was about finding our dreams.  But I think I've known all along that my dream is you.'  He brought the box up, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Kurt's.

 

'Yes.'

No hesitation.  Not even a heartbeat.  She hadn't even turned to look at him. 

'I have a ring...'

'Like a ring pop?'  Why was she joking?  Because it was a coping mechanism.  Self-defence.

'A real ring.'

He takes her hand and places a perfect ring on her finger.  She had no idea he'd bought one.  It fit.  She looked up at him for the first time.  They kiss.

 

The collective gasp and following silence was so heavy, but Kurt was still there he hadn't run away, he hadn't said yes, he hadn't said no, he hadn't said anything.  His eyes were locked on Blaine's.  There was nothing else.  But then Blaine hadn't exactly asked him anything.  An awkward cough and suddenly Kurt was moving.  He was on his knees in front of Blaine and Blaine could not read his facial expression.

'What is it with you and making declarations of love in very public ways?'  Kurt was talking to him.  Blaine knew he was reminding him about the Gap Attack, about ‘Teenage Dream’, about rescuing Kurt when Karofski left him stranded as Prom Queen.  Blaine opened his mouth to speak but Kurt cut him off.  'I love you, Blaine...'

'Finally!'  Santana interjected.  Kurt broke eye contact with him to glare at Santana, aware suddenly of the rest of the people in the room.  He turned back to Blaine.

'We should talk.'  He stands drawing Blaine up with him and leads him out of the choir room.  He is dimly aware of the roar that starts after they've left.  He can't bring himself to care.  It's out there now.  He did it.  His mind is buzzing with thoughts running through every possible way this conversation could go - every permutation.  It feels like hours later that Kurt stops – Blaine muses that it might as well be; he’s lived every version imaginable of how this could go in the time taken to walk from the choir room to where they are now  - he's lead them into the room with the paper solar system suspended from the ceiling.  It feels oddly appropriate.

'I'm sorry, Blaine.'

Wait, what?  Why is Kurt apologising?

'I promised we'd talk after Thanksgiving, but then Christmas happened and then Valentine's, and my Dad's test results...'

'Kurt...'

'Let me finish.’  Kurt took a breath.  ‘It hurt, Blaine.  Leaving you here when I left for New York was the hardest thing I've ever done.  You were right, you know.  Before.  We were sitting in Ms. Pillsbury’s office, I suppose she’s Mrs. Schuster now, but you… you tried to tell me then how it would go.  I didn't want to believe it because you were my everything.  I made this pedestal and put you on it long before you loved me.  No one can live up to that.  But you tried.  You did.  I couldn't bear it - not being able to share evenings with you, classes.  Not being able to drive over to yours whenever I wanted, to take you out.  I couldn't stand the ache of it.  But I didn't tell you and I didn't acknowledge it.  It's so easy to get lost in New York.  There's so much and it makes you feel so small and insignificant.  It was easier to pretend than to deal with it.  I don't... I don't blame you, Blaine.  I blame me.  You tried to talk to me about it, and I did what I always do.  I put my fingers in my ears and sang.  What you did...'

'Kurt...'

                'What you did killed me, Blaine.  But it forced me to realise...that...that what we had was unsustainable.  We were both too young and too inexperienced.  If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else.  What happened was only the last event in a series of events that had been escalating - Sebastian, Chandler...  It was always going to end.  It had to...to make us grow up.  Not apart.  I need you to understand something - I never stopped loving you and never will.  If, if we're going to try this again...I...I can't go through that again, Blaine.  I can't lose you again.'

Blaine's heart felt like it had stopped beating only to start again.  Kurt was crying and Blaine was dimly aware that he was too.

Kurt had stopped.  He was looking at Blaine, through Blaine, right into his soul.  Blaine looked back and saw his own reflected in those turbulent pools.

Kurt's lips were on his, claiming his, drinking him in.  Nerves on fire they closed the distance between each other, fingers gripping, grasping.  Breath coming in pants interspersed by half whispered 'I love you's.  Moans.  Groans.  Pants.  It escalated quickly.  Kurt pushed him against a desk and kept pushing until he was forced onto his back, then Kurt climbed up, covering Blaine's body with his.  This was not like it had been before.  There was no tingle, no electric fear of being seen or caught; this was base, needy, animalistic, and primal.  This was a claiming.  Re-claiming.  So different from in the back of the Prius...

'Tell me this means something, Kurt.  Please.'  Kurt froze.  Blaine hated himself the second he'd voiced the thought. 

‘ _You mean something, Kurt_ ’ _._   Burt’s voice echoed in Kurt’s head.

'Oh, Blaine, it's always meant something to me.  You mean everything to me.'  He reclaimed Blaine's mouth.  Trying to kiss the pain away.  Trying to take back the last year. 

Blaine deepened the kiss the ring box long forgotten, back in his pocket, digging into his hip now with Kurt's weight on top of him.  He didn’t remember putting it back there.

'Marry me,' a statement not a request.

 

A sofa, their own house - she's thinking and he laughs at her his mouth full of biscuit.

'What?'

'You were thinking.'  He removes the biscuit, still whole to talk.

'What did I do?'

He mimics her hand gestures, his eyes smiling.  She laughs.  He then returns the whole Digestive biscuit to his mouth.

'You are wasted as a straight man.'

He snorts in laughter.

The domesticity of the situation comforts her.

 

It had been going so well.

Kurt had jumped off him like he had been stung.  Blaine didn't even have time to register his confusion before Kurt was across the room pacing, his knuckles pressed to his mouth like he'd been slapped, his eyes still red-rimmed, his eyes watery.

'Kurt?  What did I do?'  Blaine sat up and went to move to Kurt, to hold him, to try to get him to calm down.

'You know, I dreamt of you asking me that.  So many times, Blaine.  I... I don't know what...'

'Hey, hey... Kurt, it's OK.  Shhh.'  He tried to touch him but Kurt flinched away violently.  Blaine was dimly aware that all the sound had drained from the world to be replaced by a high pitched whine.  His heart was hammering in his chest, his mind muddled and racing.

'Why now?  Why like this?'  His voice crept up an octave.  Cracking and wavering.

'Because, I love you.  Because we can.  Because I want to blind myself to you in every way.  Because I want to show the world I'm yours and you're mine.'

'You're 18, Blaine.  I'm 19.  We're barely back together.'

'What does any of that matter?'

'Look at us.  We are a mess.'

'We won't always be.'

'Then ask me again, in a year, three years...  Not now, Blaine.  Not like this.  Please, Blaine.  Don't.'

'Don't what, Kurt?  Love you?'  The ringing in his ears got louder.

'Blaine...' 

His vision blurred.  His head felt like it was about to explode; erupting like thunder.

'Damn it, not now.'  He slumped forwards.

'Blaine?'  Concern.

Blaine fell.

'Blaine!'  Panic.

 

How many times was he going to wake up like this - in a hospital bed in the company of beeping sterile machines?  He looked down - he was still in his costume from Regionals. 

'Oh thank God.'

Kurt.  He turned in the direction of the voice to see him.  He looked so pale and his hair was mussed like he had been running his hands through it.

'Sam - get the doctor.'  Kurt ordered Sam out of the room as he grasped Blaine's hand.  Kurt felt like he was on fire.  Ah, that's right - Blaine was cold.  'How're you feeling?'

'What happened?'  His throat felt like a bucket of sand had been poured down it.  Kurt fetched him a glass.  He took it and sipped greedily.

'You were making out with Lady Hummel over here and it all got too much for you,' Santana filled in.  Blaine frowned.  'He won't tell us, by the way.'

'Tell you what?'

'Whether he accepted you or not.'

'Let's give Kurt and Blaine some privacy,' Artie started to usher their friends out of the room.  Blaine silently thanked him.  Kurt glared.

'Well, hobbit?  Is he finally going to stop mooning over you and get rid of his freakish one-armed man pillow and start tapping that sweet ass of yours again, because I gots to tell you - he has been mighty frustrating while he's been in denial.'

'San…,' Kurt growled.  Blaine put his hand over his eyes.

'Oh, come on!  This is the most interesting thing that's happened since Mr Schu actually managed to put a ring on it - who knew that would actually happen, right?  I mean, third time's the charm and all, but still...'

'How much has she had to drink?'  Mercedes laughed awkwardly putting her arms out to help Artie usher everyone out.  Blaine didn't miss the pointed look she threw Kurt as they all left.  Santana's protestations audible as they went down the hall.

Kurt sighed.

'You going to tell me what's going on with you?'

'I'm sorry?'

'You said 'not now.'  Before you fainted.  What did you mean?'

Blaine furrowed his eyebrows.

'It’s nothing...’  Kurt glared at him.  Blaine signed.  ‘I've been getting these headaches.  Dizzy spells.'  He paused.  Kurt knew there was more.  He couldn't deny him.  'Um...blackouts.  Lost time.  It's like standing in the sea and there's a wave coming but I... I can't move and then I'm drowning and it all goes dark.  Then it passes.'

'How long has this been going on for?'

'Um... a couple of months I think.'

'Who else knows?'

'No one.'

'Jesus, Blaine.  You're going to talk to the doctor about this and get some scans.'

'I'm fine, Kurt.  It's nothing.'

'It's not nothing!  People don't just pass out for no reason!'

The door opened and a woman in her mid-forties entered. 

'Hello, Mr. Anderson.  I'm Dr. Lovejoy.  Your friends say you passed out.'  She walked over to his bedside and took out a pen torch.  'Look at me for a moment if you would.'  He complied.  'Follow the light for me.  That's it.  Well your iris response seems normal, pupils dilating fine.  What were you doing before it happened?'

'We were talking...'

'We were arguing.  It was pretty heated.'  Kurt corrected.  Blaine shot him a pleading look.  Kurt refused to look at him and instead looked right at the doctor.  'He said it's been going on for months now.  The dizzy spells and the fainting.'

'Is that so?'  Blaine glared at Kurt then met the Doctor's concerned gaze.  She was pretty once, Blaine noticed.  'So, Mr. Anderson.  Does it usually start when you're under emotional stress?  Or are there other triggers?'

'No.  It seems random.'

'Ok.'  She wrote something on her chart then flicked back a couple of pages.  'A couple of years ago you were in the hospital due to an attack?'

Blaine frowned.

'What's that got to do with anything?'  Kurt asked quietly.

'Mr...?'

'Hummel, Kurt Hummel,' Kurt supplied.

'Mr. Hummel, I'd like to talk to Blaine alone for a moment, would that be OK?'  Kurt looked at Blaine, then back at Dr. Lovejoy.

'No.  Kurt can stay.  He'll only make me relay every word to him afterwards anyway.'  Blaine sighed.

'OK.  Mr. Anderson, your notes say you were in hospital for a month and there is a mention here of head trauma and bleeding.  Have you suffered from any headaches since then?'

'Only in the last couple of months.  I had an MRI and a CT scan after the attack, after the swelling was down and my doctors said there was minimal permanent damage considering.'

'I'd like to do another CT scan.  I'm concerned you may have had a bleed.  Did you hit your head recently?'

'No… I don’t think so anyway.'

'OK.  I'd like to go ahead anyway to be sure.  Could you sign this form and I'll set it up.'  Blaine nodded numbly and signed.

                'I'm sure it's nothing serious but I'd like to be check.'  She smiled softly then left.  Blaine dropped his head backwards against the pillows.  Silence.  He looked up.  Kurt was still standing, clenching and unclenching his hands.

'Kurt...?'

Kurt's eyes snapped up and met Blaine's.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Ok, you've lost me.  About what?'

'Everything!  How bad those guys beat you before!  About the brain damage!  About the headaches, the dizziness, any of this?!'

'Hey, hey.  It's going to be OK.  I'm going to be OK, Kurt.'  Blaine knew the timing was bad.  He knew one of Kurt's triggers was sickness, illness, hospitals.  God knows with his mother's death, his father's heart, his father's cancer, he had a right to be sensitive about the subject.  'Kurt, I'd have told you if I thought it was serious.  Kurt look at me.'

Kurt raised his eyes.  Blaine reached for him and Kurt gravitated towards him.  Blaine took his hand and absently ran his thumb over Kurt's knuckles in a way he knew used to soothe him.

'Look, I'll have the CT, it will show nothing.  It's probably stress or tiredness or my blood pressure or something.'  Kurt nodded absently.  'You OK?'

Kurt raised his eyebrows at Blaine.  Blaine laughed.


	27. Got me so high and then she dropped me.  She got me, she got me bad…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Lucky Strike' – Maroon 5

Blaine wasn't laughing.  He couldn't feel much of anything.  Kurt had left a while ago after he'd cried, shouted, and sobbed himself out. Blaine wished he could go back to his decision to let Kurt stay in the room, that he could go back to before he had admitted the increasing frequency of his 'spells', to before all of this.  He was so tired.  So very tired.  He'd tried to get some sleep but he couldn't switch off his mind.  The new label burrowed into his skull, gnawing at his bones, joining the others.  Blaine Anderson: Gay, Cheater, Sick.  _Pathetic._

Sam had visited - Kurt must have told him.  He'd tried to blow it off - yes there was a shadow, yes they're going to have to do more tests _._

_‘No!  He's not going to die.  Dude, you’re not gonna die.’_

_‘It doesn’t work that way, Sam.’_

_‘You’re better than this.’_

This wasn't going to beat him.  He was stronger than that.  He had to be.

 

Kurt hadn't visited.  He'd had brain surgery to remove the clot the bleed had formed and Kurt hadn't been there.  He'd never felt so utterly alone.  So utterly miserable.  His parents had visited every day since his original admission.  So had Sam, so had Tina, even Marley and the other New Directions.  They'd sang to him.  His mom had been overbearing in her attentions.  She was over compensating.  It was the wrong kind of attention. 

The surgery had been successful - he’d had a subarachnoid aneurism.  There was no guarantee that another bleed would not happen.  There was no guarantee that next time he would survive.

He’d had some difficulty moving his right arm and walking after the surgery – his limbs felt heavy, leaden.  Apparently that was relatively normal and he was lucky he could still talk or move.  More physio.

His parents had picked him up when they'd finally discharged him.  His mother had hugged him tightly, so very tightly, telling him how much he was loved in Filipino over and over.  His dad had hugged him, not one of those awkward one-armed hugs men reserve for their teenage sons, but a full bone crushing 'we thought we'd lost you again' hug.  He felt smothered.  The label burned into his flesh, his core ached.  Sick.  Damaged. 

Poor Blaine.

He'd picked up his phone half a dozen times - his mother had tried to take it from him muttering something about the waves not being good for the brain.  He'd laughed bitterly at that. 

Kurt hadn't tried to call.  He hadn't even text him.  He realised dimly that he must have gone back to New York by now.  So much for communicating.  So much for being back together.  Blaine laughed bitterly.  It was better this way - this way he couldn't keep hurting Kurt.  He kept seeing his face as it had been when the doctor had come back grim faced with the CT results - the way he'd crumpled physically as if he'd been stabbed.  Blaine's stomach churned and he lurched, barely making it to the bathroom in time.  His head still throbbed where they'd drilled into his skull under the bandage.  Yes, Kurt was in New York where he belonged.  It was better this way.  Cleaner.  Blaine knew what he had to do.  He heaved himself back up from the tiled floor and made his way back into his room.  On a darker day he'd applied to universities far, far away.  Things had gotten brighter and he'd almost forgotten – he hoped that it wasn't too late.  He rummaged around in the drawers of his bedside table.  There - the letter felt thick and heavy in his hand.  His fingers traced the air post marks and the foreign stamps.  Nimble fingers prised the envelope open and pulled out the letter. 

Acceptance.

He picked up the telephone and made the international call after quickly checking that the time would be appropriate. 

_I'm doing this for myself._

**Ring**

_You're running away again. Just like you always do.  Call him you coward._

**Ring**

_If he wanted to talk to me he'd have called or text me.  He knew where I was.  It's not like I was going anywhere._

**Ring**

_Be fair.  It's a lot to deal with.  He's lost his mother, he almost lost his father twice, now just as he lets you back in you go and almost die._

**Ring**

_If I go I'm protecting him.  He won't have to worry about getting close to me only for me to keel over suddenly one day._

'Good afternoon, Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts admissions department, how may I help you?'

'Good afternoon, my name is Blaine Anderson - I'd like to accept your offer.'

 

'What the hell, man?'  Sam was furious.  'One minute you're proposing to him the next you're leaving him behind to study in England?'

'I didn't leave him, Sam,' Blaine rubbed his temple where the bandage lay.  Apparently holes in your skull took a long time to heal.  At least the bandage meant no one could see the patch of his head they'd shaved as the hair grew back ridiculously slowly.

'Does he know?'

'If he asked I'd tell him, but he hasn't tried to talk to me since he found out that I'm going to die and the fun part is that no one knows when.'

Sam shook his head and bit his lip.  Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose; his head was really hurting again today.

'Sorry, Sam.  I didn't mean to snap.  My head aches, I can't sleep, and it hurts that he left like that.'

Sam, sweet Sam.  A closer brother to him in the last year than Cooper.  Sam, the only person who had never looked at him and saw the labels.  Had never seen him as 'the gay kid', 'the cheater', or 'the sick kid'.  Sam only saw Blaine.  His friend.  His bro.

The hug was firmer than normal.

'I'm gonna miss you.'

'I'm going to miss you too.'

'You better Skype me.'

'I will.  You won't be rid of me that easily.'

 

He didn't hang around after graduation.  He'd booked tickets for 10:05am the next day.  Everything was packed.  His parents had taken some convincing but had eventually consented.  His flight had gone from Dayton to New York JFK via Chicago.  He’d landed in JFK after making his Chicago connection at 4:15pm - only 5 minutes late, and for a brief moment, as he wandered the terminal waiting for his gate number to be confirmed, he allowed himself to break down.  He hadn't allowed himself to think about Kurt until then, being in the same city as him, for the last couple of hours for the next three years had hit him and he folded, shaking.  He didn't care that people were staring.  He couldn't bring himself to even look up or dry his eyes as he gradually got up and dropped into a plastic seat in the nearest gate area.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, fingers ghosting over his phone book.  He closed his eyes and ran his free hand through his hair - as it had grown back he'd let it grow out.  He'd stopped gelling.  Stopped caring. 

_Two boys on the steps of McKinley: one in Dalton uniform, the other about to take his place back where he belonged.  "I'm never saying goodbye to you."_

 ‘American Airlines flight number 106 to London Heathrow now boarding First Class tickets.’

He glanced up as the first group of passenger seat numbers were called for his flight.

This was the last time he would be on US soil for three years.  Three years.

He should have been moving into the loft in Bushwick today.  Not sitting in a waiting lounge.  He felt sick.

 **Blaine** : I love you.  I'm so sorry. x

Send.

He hardly registered he had hit send when his seat row was called.  He stood up stiffly and picked up his hand luggage. 

**No new messages.**

He handed his boarding card over to the smiling hostess.

**No new messages.**

He walked down the ramp towards the plane door and stepped on board, joining the queue of people as they filed down the aisle.

**No new messages.**

He stowed his bag in the overhead storage locker then took his seat by the window.

**No new messages.**

He waited.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**1 new message.**

His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone.

 **Sam:** Gonna miss you, dude.  Get me something cool! Have a good flight!

 **Blaine:** Thanks.  I’m going to miss you too.  Will keep an eye out for something suitably British for you!

**No new messages.**

**1 new message.**

**Sam:** Heard from you know who?

 **Blaine:** No.

 **Sam:** You text him though right?

 **Blaine:** :(

 **Sam:** Knew you'd cave. Did you tell him?

 **Blaine:** No...

 **Sam:** :(

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

The tinny announcement indicated their readiness for taxi.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

Three fights in queue ahead of them.

**No new messages.**

**1 new message.**

**Tina:** I'm gonna miss u Blainey-Days! :,(

 **Blaine:** I'll miss you too, lady.  :(

**No new messages.**

**1 new message.**

**Tina:** Sam's actually crying.

Blaine huffed a laugh through tears.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**1 new message.**

**Cooper:** Have a good flight, Squirt!  Say hi to the Queen for me!

 **Blaine:** It doesn't work like that, Coop.  Don't call me Squirt!

 **Cooper:** ;)

 **Blaine:** I'll miss you too.  Come visit when you get bored.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

One more flight ahead then all electronic devices must be turned off.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

_Please turn all electronic devices off_.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

He closed his eyes and turned off his phone.

_“I'm never saying goodbye to you.”_

'Guess you just did.'


	28. Thinking over it, over it - how can I get over it?  Wondering what state I’m in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Perfect Man' – Rufus Wainwright

Blaine actually loved London.  He'd found his way around pretty quickly and once he'd worked out how the tube system worked - colour codes only sort of helped, the lack of grid system meant you had to have a vague idea of how the city was mapped out - he found it easy to navigate.  On weekends he liked picking a random destination, getting off the tube and exploring.  He generally avoided Oxford Street as he found it too crowded, preferring to stick to Covent Garden and Soho.  RADA had set him up in student accommodation, but due to his late acceptance his flat was a little further out than most of the other foreign students, and he had a place to himself.  He didn't mind.  He had been a mess for the first couple of weeks anyway.

It had been cathartic - getting lost in the bustle of the ancient city.  He understood now what Kurt had meant about his first few months in New York.

He'd never struggled to make friends and he had quickly been adopted by a couple of Brits - all girls.  He'd come out quickly to avoid any embarrassment as one of the girls had been very flirty with him.  No one had batted an eyelid.

He hadn't gone home for any of the breaks.  He didn't need to with his Student Visa. He'd spent Thanksgiving like it was just another day and barely missed it.  The first Christmas his parents had flown over and taken him out for dinner.  They'd stayed a week and done the typical tourist things - went to the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, saw _The Phantom of the Opera_ , and _Wicked_.  The summer came and went, Cooper with it.  Cooper had spent most of the time trying to get in the pants of one of his friends' friends who happened to be a casting agent. 

The second year had flown by - he was involved in several societies at RADA, mostly acting, but a couple of musical ones.  He gained leads and was offered the role of Roger in a minor theatre production of _Rent_ in the West End.  From that another role, then another.  Each bigger than the last.  He landed Sweeney in a short run of _Sweeney Todd the Demon Barber of Fleet Street_.  From there he was offered Fiyero in _Wicked_.  He was ecstatic.  His parents flew over with Cooper for his preview. 

It had been two years.  He could hardly believe it had been two years.  He looked at his watch - it was likely to be busy on the tube now and he was due to meet his parents in 20 minutes.  He'd just about managed to get out of costume and make-up and out the back door before being seen.  A bus passed him - his name and face on it advertising the show.  He couldn't get used to that.  He cut down a side street, then another - following a route in his head.  He could smell China Town before he saw it, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.  He found the shop he wanted and headed upstairs, like he had instructed his family - downstairs was for tourists.  He spotted them and joined them.  His mother was grinning.

'Squirt, you were outstanding.'

'Thanks, Coop.  Don't call me Squirt.'

Cooper laughed.

'So, um... what's good to eat here?'  His father frowned at the menu.  Blaine smiled.  It was all in Chinese.  The waitress came and Blaine ordered for everyone.

'Tell us, Be-Be[1].  Anyone new in your life?'  His mother was as subtle as a sledgehammer.

'No, mom.'

'No one at all, Be?'

'No one at all, Inay[2].' 

Well that wasn't strictly true.  There was Thom.  Mid-way through the first term of his second year Thom had approached him - they both had 'British Theatre' and 'Shakespeare' modules.  Thom was easy to smile and utterly at home in his body - he reminded Blaine of a young Jack Davenport. 

 

                _'Hi.' Thom had sat next to him on the tiered seating area of the small black box theatre their class was held in.  Blaine had subconsciously shifted to make room for him.  He'd not been able to clock Thom's orientation - most of the gay guys on his course, or in general at RADA, could be described as flaming.  For example Marco – Marco ‘Pinky’ Jones had spent every day of the summer term last year trying to get in Blaine's pants.  Marco started most conversations with 'Dharling!' followed by air kisses and had a little gaggle of hags, each of whom he proclaimed 'Fabulous' with a giggle. When Blaine had first been introduced to Pinky he had been dressed as a nun.  The irony didn’t escape Blaine._

_'I'm Thom, well, I’m actually Myles Thomas Phillips, but I prefer Thom.'  Tom had held out his hand.  Blaine took it, his breeding effectively allowing him to mask his mild shock at Thom’s forwardness.  Thom’s accent was different to most of the others’ – there was a sing-song quality to the way he spoke that reminded Blaine of Sir Anthony Hopkins._

_'Blaine Devon Anderson.'  He returned, feeling mildly awkward using his middle name.  But Thom had given his so he felt he should reciprocate.  There was always something intimate about sharing that extra piece of often neglected information._

_'We're going to be great friends, you and I.'  Thom had winked at him then turned back towards the stage as their lecturer started talking._

_Blaine had spent most of the lesson studying Thom out of the corner of his eye.  Thom had had the common decency to pretend he hadn't noticed.  Thom wore his dark hair in a side parting, his fringe long but back and sides tidy. Blaine noticed his eyes were dark but he wasn’t certain what colour they were.  He found he wanted to know.  He appreciated the glow of them - the way Thom smiled with his eyes.  Thom’s clothes were understated – a black turtleneck and fitted jeans paired with black Chelsea boots – but Blaine could tell by the way they fit him that they were expensive.  He appreciated the way Thom’s strong jawline gave him a manly quality – Blaine thought he looked like a public school boy who had grown up handsome, however, Blaine suspected that Thom was well aware of that._

_The lecture ended and Blaine couldn't have told anyone what it had been about.  Thom had stood, placing his notepad in his bag and smiled at Blaine._

_'Coffee?'_

 

Coffee had turned into a regular thing and Blaine and Thom had become inseparable.  Thom told Blaine all about his home life - his father had beat him when he'd come out, and then disowned him.  His father’s first name was also Myles, hence his preference to be called Thom.  His mother had left his father and moved them both from Craig Penllyn in South Wales to Stratford-upon-Avon in Warwickshire.  Thom felt guilty every day for choosing a university in London over one closer to his mum.  Thom had gone to an all boys' school in Monmouth and so had lost his Welsh accent.  Blaine told Thom about the fateful Sadie Hawkins dance and his subsequent transfer to Dalton.  Blaine told Thom about Kurt, and Thom had listened.  Thom had told Blaine about Piotr and Matthew and Jacques and the ones whose names he could not recall -

'Probably never asked,' he'd quipped. 

Thom had been ‘off the rails’ last year.  Sweet, quiet, caring Thom had slept with every man who would have him in Soho. 

'I just wanted to feel, Blaine.' 

Blaine hadn't judged.  Blaine told Thom about the bleed in his brain - about the time bomb that resided there.  Thom hadn't looked at him with pity like Blaine had feared.  Thom had smiled and patted him on the back.  'Better make the most of each day then, Yank.  Carpe diem and all that!' 

Blaine and Thom became inseparable.  But Blaine and Thom were nothing but friends.  Thom had never tried anything.  Blaine would never try anything.  Yes, Thom was attractive, but that part of Blaine was in a box somewhere, locked away.  Since Kurt.  Since the diagnosis.  Thom was everything Blaine needed him to be - a constant in his life.  Filling the gap of best friend since Sam was back in the US.  Thom understood that's all Blaine wanted and seemed to respect that.

 

'Told you we'd see your name up in lights one day, Squirt.' Cooper broke the awkward silence.  Blaine shot him a thankful look.

The rest of dinner went smoothly and after Blaine had walked them back to their hotel he made his way to his 'dogbox' as Thom called it.  He checked his UK mobile phone, his US one long neglected in a drawer somewhere.

**1 new message.**

**Thom:** Hey, Yank.  Keep seeing your face everywhere.  Avoid Leicester Square tube station.

 **Blaine:** Hey, Taff.  You love my face.

 **Thom:** That I do.  How was dinner?

 **Blaine:** Awkward.  Can we leave it at that?

 **Thom:** Of course.  Want to talk about it?

 **Blaine:** I'm actually kind of exhausted...

 **Thom:** Oh right, yeah!  Forgot about The Play.  :P  Go to bed.

 **Blaine:** You ordering me around now?

 **Thom:** Bet your sweet ass.  ;) :P  Sleep.

Blaine tossed his phone on the bed and stripped, almost falling into the shower then into bed.  He lay in the darkness until he lost consciousness with a smile on his lips.

 

His Facebook had been buzzing.  The news must have made it to the US. 

 **Sam:** Duuuuuuude!  Congratulations, man!  You rock!  Wish I could see it.

 **Tina:** Can't believe you managed to keep this quiet for so long!  Miss you.  When are you coming home to visit?  You need to tell me everything!

 **Wes:** Blaine!  Knew you'd make it.  Congratulations.

 **Trent:** You star you! 

 **Sebastian:** Hey, Killer.  Saw the flier in the NY Times.  Congrats.  May have cut your pic out for reference...

 **Tina:** @Sebastian   Sure…’reference’.  Sicko.

 **Marley:** YAY!  Only a matter of time!  First London then NY!   <3

 **Puck:** Way to go, dude!  Bet you're tapping all that hot British booty now you're famous.  High five!

 **Finn:** Puck just told me.  Awesome, man.  Told you you were freakishly talented.

 **Sam:** Call me.

 **Rachel:** Congratulations, Blaine.

His heart stopped. 

 

She'd only posted two pictures from the professional ones taken on the day.  They were full of comments about how beautiful she looked, how lovely the day was, and ‘congratulations’.  People she hadn't spoken to in 8+ years were commenting on a snapshot of her life.  She felt disgust.  She stopped using Facebook.

 

Rachel knew...that meant...  A knock on the door.  He closed his laptop and answered it to find Cooper, grinning like an idiot. 

'Heya, Squirt!  You're not even ready!  Come on!  Mom and Dad have gone shopping or something so I managed to convince them that I should take you out.  Have some one-on-one time with my super talented baby bro.  Get some clothes on - we're going to hit the town.'

'Coop, I have work tonight.'

'Come on now, Squirt.  I want to get a picture of you in front of the theatre with your name on it - didn't get a chance last night.  Then we need to go get some good ol' fashioned bangers for breakfast.'

Blaine rolled his eyes and begrudgingly changed then followed Cooper out over to the theatre district.  He posed with no complaint, even following Coopers insane directions –

‘…Now put your arms out!  Not like that!  Like you’re holding up your own name!  Yes.  Hold it!  OK.  Now it’s the 20’s and you’re fresh off the red carpet!  Great!  Now you’re in character!  Hold it!...’

 - and followed Cooper to a McDonalds' for a 'breakfast bap'.  Blaine refused one of his own and instead led Cooper out to Soho Square to sit while he ate.  His mind kept flitting back to Sam and Rachel's messages.  He hadn't spoken properly to Sam or Tina, or anyone other than his family for over a year now.  He liked to think it was the distance, but really it was him trying to forget – to move on.  Sam had never once asked him to call before now, he was usually content to leave it until both happened to be on Skype at the same time.

He feigned sickness, his mind whirring, and headed back to his flat - Cooper would forgive him eventually.  He had to call Sam.

He was not online on Skype.

His hands shook as he opened his laptop back up.  He only checked Facebook when he was alerted to a new message or wall post.  He never checked anyone else's profiles.  He had no idea whether Kurt had blocked him.  He had no idea.  Did he want to know?

His phone buzzed.

**1 new message.**

**Thom:** Cwoffee?

 **Blaine:** Rain check?

 **Thom:** What's going on?

 **Blaine:** Look at Facebook.

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**No new messages.**

**Thom:** Awwww.

 **Blaine:** Not aww, Thom.

 **Thom:** Your friends are happy for you, what's wrong? 

 **Thom:** Is this Code K?

 **Thom:** I'm coming over.

 **Blaine:** Don't.  I'm fine.

 

 

                **Harry:**   Morning! Could you shout at Grae for being the Grinch and not liking Christmas?

                Sent at 08:00 on Wednesday

 **me:**   What's he done now?

                Sent at 08:00 on Wednesday

                **Harry:**   he doesnt like christmas

or buying presents

or receiving presents

or christmas trees

or getting terribly drunk on mulled wine

                **me:**   How did you even get into this discussion in June?

                **Harry:**   Absolutely no idea

but it happened

he's 26 and says he has everything he wants

he doesnt want anything more

 **me:**   Nothing wrong with that.

 **Harry:**   but thats nonsense

  **me:**   Is it?

                **Harry:**   yes

if i bought you say a bottle of wine you wouldnt say but I've already had some wine once

 **me:**   Christmas is more about kiddies.

  **Harry:**   rubbish

its about getting drunk of gluhwein and egg nog

 **me:**   Weirdo

                **Harry:**   what?!

are you the grinch too?

                **me:**   No!

                **Harry:**   you sound an awful lot like Grae

                **me:**   I'm disillusioned, maybe?

                **Harry:**   your whole idea of christmas must change

                **me:**   Your mission?

                **Harry:** if you can remember it, it wasnt a good one

yes

                **me:**   I have never been drunk on Christmas

                **Harry:**   starting from now

                **me:**   Tomorrow is going to be fun then.

                **Harry:** Ding Dong Merrily on High!

                **me:**   In Heaven the bells are ringing.

I love carols.

                **Harry:**   thats the spirit!

                **me:**   I sing them all year and hubby gets angry with me.

Apparently they are Christmas only songs.

                **Harry:**   Ding fries are done

Ding fries are done

Ding fries are done

                **me:**   Ding fries are done!

<3 Carol of the Bells. <3

                Sent at 08:09 on Wednesday

 

He couldn't get through on Skype so he decided to message him.

 **Blaine** : Hey, Sam!  What's up?

No response.  He opened Facebook back up.

**Cooper Anderson has posted a photo of you.**

Blaine cringed.  There for everyone to see was one of the photos Cooper had taken that morning of Blaine pulling a silly pose under his name on the front of the Apollo Victoria theatre.  He clicked the photo comments.

 **Sebastian:** Looking good, Killer.

**Artie has liked this.**

**Santana has liked this.**

**Tina:** Still as cute and compact as ever!  <3

 **Santana:** This is all wrong.  That's not The Hobbit musical.

 **Brittany:** Have you met the Queen yet?

 **Santana:** Don't be silly, Brit.  He's _A_ Queen not _the_ Queen.

 **Brittany:** Who is?

**Sebastian has liked this.**

Blaine stopped reading and closed his laptop.  His phone kept buzzing.

**4 new messages.**

**Thom:** Just bumped into this really cute guy with the most fascinating bright blue eyes...

 **Thom:** Says he's a Yank like you...

 **Thom:** He's actually really hot.  I may fall off the waggon here.

 **Thom:** Says he's your brother.  What are the odds, right?  :P

 **Blaine:** Are you *trying* to kill me?

 **Thom:** Oh, come on.  He's worried about you.  Said you just ran off.

 **Blaine:** Which should have been a hint to leave me alone?

 **Thom:** Don't be silly.  I'll happily distract your brother for a while if you like though.

 **Blaine:** He's straight, Thom.

 **Thom:** Doesn't stop me appreciating him….  ;)

 **Thom:** Look, I've got the morning free.  I have to be at the chapel by 4 for practice.  You want me, call me.  Ok?

 **Blaine:** Thanks, Thom.

Blaine fell backwards onto the bed.  He felt exhausted.

 

He had no idea when he had fallen asleep but he woke with a start to his phone alarm telling him to head over to the theatre. 

**No new messages.**

**1 missed call - Cooper.**

**Blaine:** Everything alright, Coop?

**No new messages.**

He grabbed his keys and wallet and quickly headed out in the direction of the theatre.  The tube was relatively free flowing for the time.  He signed in at the stage door then headed to his room to get ready.

**1 new message.**

**Cooper:** Break a leg tonight.  So proud of you.  Hope you're feeling better.

 **Blaine:** Thanks, Coop.

 **Cooper:** Met Thom by the way.  Hot.

 **Blaine:** Awkward.  It's not like that.  We're friends. 

 **Cooper:** For now...

Blaine frowned and flung his phone onto the couch took a seat in front of the mirror and took a deep calming breath.  Pushing the torrent of thoughts aside he cleared his mind. 

_Get a grip, Blaine._

 

  


* * *

[1] Slang.  From baby.

[2] Affectionate term for mother.


	29. You were never my friend, you were never my, you were never my lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Stutter' - Darren Criss

It was a couple of weeks later and he'd not checked Facebook once, deciding it was doing him no good - that was his old life.  He'd not managed to get hold of Sam so he'd stopped trying and had focused on enjoying where he was.  His parents and Cooper had flown back the week before and he was heading to Trafalgar Square to meet Thom.  Thom was due to conduct Verdi's ‘Requiem’ that evening - he was at RADA on a music scholarship and so had obligations to fill in his spare time, such as serving as Organist and conductor at various venues related to RADA.  The first time Blaine had seen Thom play his breath had caught in his throat.  Thom had been sat with his back to the empty chapel and the sunlight had streamed through the stained glass panes, back-lighting Thom and making his dark hair shine with hundreds of colours.  He looked so serene; his shoulders relaxed, his head moving slightly as he lost himself to the music.  Blaine smiled at the memory.  Thom had turned, feeling someone's eyes on him, and smiled when he'd seen Blaine.  Smiled.  Blaine's step lightened as he lost himself in the memory, heading down the steps towards the lions in the centre.  Someone's hand on his shoulder stopped him as he passed them.

'Oh, sorry!  I was wondering if you knew how to get to...Blaine?'

Blaine's heart hit the floor. 

'Kurt?!'

'Blaine!'  Kurt was grinning.

'Oh my God, Kurt!  W…what are you doing here?'

'Trying to find you!'

Blaine frowned at the man standing in front of him.  Kurt was in London.  Trying to find him.

'Surprise...?'  Kurt's smile faded a little.  Blaine seemed to have lost the ability to think or breathe or move for that matter.

'Blaine, are you ok?'  Blaine shook his head lightly then took a breath.

'Sorry, just really wasn't expecting to see you.'  He pulled himself together and offered a smile that felt forced.  Kurt didn't seem to notice.

'We have to stop meeting like this.'  Kurt attempted to joke.  Blaine was barely keeping himself together.  'So, how’ve...'

'Please don't ask me how I've been, Kurt.'

'Blaine, I'm so sorry.'

'Look, I'm supposed to be meeting a friend...'

'Oh.  Of course.  Um...  I'm staying at the Strand Palace Hotel.  Could we maybe meet for coffee later?'

'I'm working tonight.'

'That's fine.  After that?'

'I won't be out until 11.'

'I'm all jetlagged anyway.  11 is fine.'

'OK.  I'll meet you at your hotel?  Have you got a phone?'  Kurt nodded and handed it to Blaine.  Blaine entered his number.  'I think I know where it is but text me the address.'

'OK.'

'Know where you are now?'

'Trafalgar Square?'

'Yes.  Have you got a Tube Map?'

'Yes.'  Kurt unfolded it. 

Blaine gently took it and pointed to the nearest station. 

‘Walk that way to Charring Cross then take the Bakerloo Line (the brown one) towards Queen's Park.  Get off at Piccadilly (this one) and take the Piccadilly line (dark blue) towards Heathrow.  Get off at South Kensington.  The V&A museum is right there.  They have an Elizabeth Taylor exhibition on - it's a good way to spend a day.  I'll see you later.'

'Thanks, Blaine.'

Blaine nodded and somehow managed to walk away, his head spinning.  He didn't turn to look back.  He refused to think about what had just happened.  He walked until he saw Thom sitting at their usual table outside the small cafe near the chapel. 

'Thought you weren't going to make it!'

'Sorry, Thom.'  Blaine huffed as he flopped down in the metal chair next to Thom then looked at his watch.

'Are you OK?  You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'It's nothing.'

Thom gave him a critical look but knew not to push.

'Come on, old chap.  Got you one to go.'  Thom handed Blaine the coffee and Blaine smiled in appreciation.

'Thank you, Thom.'

 

**1 new message**

**Kurt:** 372 Strand, London, WC2R 0JJ.  You look really good by the way.

 

Blaine didn't allow himself to think.  He'd given the best performance of his life and was now moments away from seeing his...  he wasn't sure what Kurt was anymore.  He was waiting for him outside the hotel.  He was breath-taking.

'Hi.'  Kurt was smiling at him again.

'Hi.' 

'So, coffee?'

'Sure.'

'Um... I think I saw a place that may still be open.  I think it was that way.'

Blaine looked amused and fell into step as Kurt led them away from the hotel.

'It was light earlier.  Um... I think it was just down here.  It all looks so different in the dark.  I mean, at least in New York you have an idea of how many blocks it was or whether it was east or west...'

They eventually saw a Starbucks and Kurt huffed in triumph.  Blaine chuckled lightly and held the door for Kurt. 

 _Old habits die..._  

He shook the thought away, refusing to dwell.

_Just see what he wants._

'I'll grab us a table upstairs.'  Blaine didn't wait for a response - he was testing him.  Upstairs was deserted so he found the comfiest looking nook complete with leather sofa and settled down.  There hadn't been much of a queue so Kurt was not long in joining him.  Kurt placed the filter coffee in front of Blaine together with a stirrer and handful of sugar packets.  He'd remembered.  'Thanks.'

Kurt had smiled gently at him and stirred his own frothy-looking coffee.

'So, what did you want to talk about?'

Kurt started slightly at Blaine's bluntness.

'I heard about the show.'

'Rachel.'

'Rachel.'

'I'm so proud of you.'

'Thanks.'  Blaine took a sip of coffee and waited.  Kurt was looking at him as if trying to work something out.  'You didn't come all the way over to London just to say that.'

'No.'

'So?'

'Look, Blaine.  I'm...'

'Say you're sorry, Kurt, and I'm out the door.'

'I deserved that.'

Fiery hazel eyes locked with turbulent glasz.

'I was going to say that I'm on a placement with Vogue.com so I'll be in London for the next year.'

Blaine nodded slightly.  It made sense.  That was why he was in London.  He must have graduated from NYADA last term.

'Why, Blaine?'

'Why what?'

'Why did you leave?'

'Why not?  It's worked out pretty well for me.  I didn't have a reason to go to New York.  Nothing was tying me to the US.'

Kurt looked down at his coffee.

'So, what is this, Kurt?  We friends again because I'm the only person you know in London?'

'No!'

'Then what, Kurt?  You didn't call, you didn't write...'

'I didn't have your number.'

'My e-mail address never changed.'

'I was mad at you.'

Blaine laughed.

'You were mad at me?  What did _I_ do, Kurt?'

'You almost died.'

'Yeah, sorry about that.  Selfish of me I know.'

'Blaine, please listen.  It's coming out all wrong.' Blaine took a deep breath and let Kurt think for a moment.  'I was scared.'

'Of what?'

'Losing you.'

'People die every day, Kurt.  Every damn day.'

'They're not you.'

'So what are you trying to tell me here?  That I should have just gone to New York and waited for you to come around and that we should be living our happy ever after right now?'

'Yes?'

'Damn it, Kurt.'

'There's someone else, right?  I’m mean of course there is…'

'How can you even ask me that?'

They stared at their respective coffees.  Blaine huffed.

'It's been a really long day - I'm going to go.  Good to see you, Kurt.'  He made to leave.  Kurt grabbed his hand.

'Blaine, please.'

Blaine sat back down.  Silence.

'Look, I screwed up.  I'd been in denial about us for months and Santana had kept going on at me about it, but then I had my Dad to focus on...'  Kurt started lining the extra sugar packets up again like he had in the Lima Bean years before when he had been worried sick about his father.  '...and there you were.  The constant in my life.  I never stopped loving you, you know?  I was just so scared and overwhelmed.  We were together again and then suddenly there's a doctor telling us that you could just drop down dead any day.  Any day with no warning.  And I panicked.  You needed me and I left you.  Again.'

'Why now, Kurt?  Don't tell me it's just because of this placement thing because I don't buy it.'

'I couldn't do it anymore.'

'Do what?'

'Lie to myself.'

'You seem to have done a pretty good job of doing just that for two years.  So, why now?  Why not last year or the year before or when I was stuck in the damn hospital?  Have a bad break-up?  Is that it?  Am I your go-to rebound now?'

'No!'

'Then why, Kurt.  Explain it to me, I have brain damage remember.  I'm a little slow to follow where you're going with this.  Spell it out for me.'

'Because I am in love with you.  Because when you left you took a part of me with you.'

Blaine laughed.

'You're in love with an idea.  That boy in the blazer who would have moved the Earth to make you smile.  That boy does not exist, not any more.  You don't even know me.'

'Then let's start over.  Let's get to know each other again!'

'Why?  What for?  You said it yourself - I could drop down dead any day now.'

'I don't care.'  Almost a whisper.

'Why?  What changed?'

'I grew up.  I realised that what we had - that was real and you know it was.  You knew I needed time to deal with this.  You knew I'd have got there eventually with your help.  You knew and you still decided to draw a line under us and leave!  Why didn't you tell me you were leaving for London?!'

'You weren't talking to me!  You left me alone and scared in a hospital to have brain surgery!'

They had been shouting.  A small mousy barista had poked her head up the stairs to see what was going on.  Blaine stood and apologised to her then ordered two more drinks passing her a £20 and telling her to keep the change.  She retreated back down the stairs to make the drinks and Blaine turned back around to face Kurt, slowly, resting against the banister.

'How did you think this would go, Kurt?'

Kurt laughed sadly. 

'Um... I was going to surprise you at the theatre.  I was going wait at the stage door and I was going to sing to you.'

Blaine laughed sadly.

'You were heading in the wrong direction.  You should have gone east not west from your hotel.’  Blaine sighed.  ‘How did things get this messed up?'

'Blaine...'  Their eyes met again.  Gravity.  Kurt was standing in front of him, their hands interlinked.  'Blaine, I promise you, I will never leave you again, not if I can help it.  I'm going to be there for you in whatever capacity you will let me.  I am going to talk to you when I feel insecure and I'm going to listen when you need me to.  Whether that's as your friend, or your...your  partner.  That doesn't matter to me.  I am here for you.'

A small cough from behind them alerted them to the fact that their new drinks had arrived.  The girl had added biscotti to their plates.  She placed the tray gently on the table and left again.  Kurt thanked her then turned back to Blaine.

'One more chance, Blaine?'

Blaine closed his eyes and felt himself nodding lightly.

He felt Kurt's lips brush his then felt Kurt pull him back towards the sofa.

'Come on.'

He felt himself collapse slightly as he let go.

'So, Mr., we have a lot to catch-up on.  Tell me everything.  Tell me about RADA, and _Wicked_.  _Wicked_ , Blaine!  I always saw you as Fiyero...'

Blaine opened his eyes and he swore they were back in the Lima Bean, Kurt almost bouncing in his chair as he told Blaine about Santana verbally attacking Rachel and Finn after their impromptu kiss cost the New Directions Nationals. 

He shook his head lightly to clear his mind.  He let go.  Let go of the hurt and the guilt and the anger and the pain.  There was nothing but now.  Nothing but London, the coffee and Kurt.


	30. Well I could fight this, but I may die.  And all I want is to be the apple in your eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Comprachicos' - Pendulum

To say Thom was confused would have been an understatement.

'Kurt is here? '

'Yes.'

'In London?'

'Yes.'

'For a year?'

'Yes, Thom.  Kurt is here, in London, for the next year.'  Blaine rolled his eyes and turned the page for Thom as he played.

'I was right.  It was Code K and you didn't even call me!'

'I'm fine, Thom.'

'You look like you haven't slept.  I'm certain those are the same clothes you were wearing yesterday...  You didn't?!'

'Thom... what?  No!  No I didn't sleep with him.  We were up all night.  We met after the show for coffee and talked.'

'You didn't sleep with him?'

'No, Thom.'  Blaine’s hand brushed the back of Thom’s lightly.  Thom stopped playing and turned to face him.

'You want to though.'

'What?  No.'

'You do, Blaine.  I can see it in your eyes.  Be careful.  Please.  I don't buy this epiphany crap.'

'Neither do I.  Look.  He'll tell me what’s really going on eventually.  Maybe he really is just here for his work and that it happens to be in London is a coincidence.  We're just friends.  It's been two years.  We need to get to know each other again.'

'Uh-huh.'  Thom started playing again.

'As friends...'

'Yeah...'

'Wait...Are you jealous?'

'The love of your life, your self-proclaimed “soul mate” waltzes back into your life like he never left and you stay up all night chatting with him and getting to know each other again when you blow me off for coffee all the time and you ask me if I am jealous?'

'You are...  Oh, God, Thom...'

Thom stopped playing and turned to look at Blaine again.

'I'm not jealous.  I'm hurt.  And I'm worried.  I'm worried about you.  You were finally moving on, Blaine.  He's screwing everything up again.'

'Look, Thom.  I thought we'd talked about this.  I really like you, but I...'

'I know.  Sleeping with Eli made you see how Kurt is it for you and always will be.  You've told me a million times.  And I get it.  But that Kurt doesn't exist Blaine.  The Kurt that thought it would be OK to just insert himself back in to your life is not the Kurt you fell in love with...'

'He might be.'

'Please, Blaine.  Be careful.'

'I'm sorry, Thom.  I never meant to make you feel...'

'You couldn't help that.  You're charming, charismatic, beautiful you.'

Blaine took Thom's hand gingerly.

'Kurt wouldn't hurt me.  Not again.  Not now.'

'I really hope you're right.'

'Look, I want you to meet him, OK?'

'Blaine, I'm not sure that would be a good idea.'

'Please?'

'Goddamn puppy eyes.  Playing dirty there.  Fine.'

Which is how he came to find himself sitting at a table in Patisserie Valerie in Covent Garden with Kurt to his left and Thom to his right.  Kurt and Thom actually seemed to get on really well.  Thom was regaling Kurt with tales of Second Year Blaine - how he'd gotten pissed at the _Sweeney Todd_ after-show party and Thom had had to get him home though he hadn't known where Blaine lived at the time.  Blaine had woken up passed out in the bath tub with his pockets full of bread.  Apparently Thom had tried to force feed him bread to sober up before passing out on Blaine's bed himself. 

Kurt had reciprocated with the tale of how Blaine got drunk at Rachel Berry's party, kissed her and then thought he might have been Bi before kissing her sober and reaffirming his Gaydom.  The banter had continued over dinner until the question of relationships came up.  Apparently it was Embarrass Blaine Day.

'Come on, Blaine.  You must have dated.  It's London.  You live in Soho for God's sake.  Tom will tell me.'

'There is nothing to tell.'  Blaine countered.

'He's not lying, Kurt.  He really is Mr. Ice in that department.  The LGBT community were taking bets.'

'Over what?'

'Over whether he was actually gay, or whether he was frigid or just plain damaged.'

'Really, Blaine?'

Blaine huffed and refused to join in.

'So you two didn't...'

'Nope.  Not for want of trying I may add.'  Thom looked sadly at Blaine through his smile.  Kurt looked thoughtful.

'Now we have embarrassed me thoroughly, do you think we could change the subject?'  Blaine signalled to the waiter for the bill.

The topic of conversation turned back onto Vogue and fashion and Blaine let them talk. 

_Why does Kurt want to know so badly?  Why does Kurt seem to have wanted me to have had relationships?  Did he have other relationships after Adam?  Of course he has._

'Blaine!'  Thom nudged him.

'Huh?  Oh, sorry.  What?'

'Kurt was just telling me about how you guys met.  Both times. - you and stairs, right?  That's actually kind of romantic.'

'I've not really thought about it.'

'Oh come on.  You overthink everything and you're trying to tell me you didn't think it might be Fate?'  Thom finished his drink as the bill was placed on the table.  'I'll get this.'

Kurt tried to interject but Blaine stopped him.

'Thanks, Thom.'

Thom smiled as he walked over to the till.

'It's etiquette with Thom.  He invited us.  He pays.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.  Took me a while to learn that you can't argue with Thom about things like that.  Don't worry - I'll take him somewhere fancy next time.'  Blaine missed the questioning look Kurt threw him as Thom returned and they headed back into centre of Covent Garden.

'Ice-cream?'  Blaine asked, shooting Kurt a knowing look.

'You and that place, Blaine.  Honestly.  Anyway - you need to watch it Mr. or your costume won't fit.'  Thom poked his tongue out at Blaine and winked at Kurt.

'Jealous of my abs are you, Mr. Phillips?'  Blaine poked Thom in the stomach.  Kurt watched as Blaine and Thom roughhoused as they made their way over to The Icecreamists.  Blaine caught Kurt staring as his shirt had ridden up.  He straightened it, blushing slightly, then cleared his throat.  'Ahem.  The home of the infamous Baby GooGoo ice-cream.'

'Yeugh!  The breast milk one?  Seriously?'  Kurt made a face.

'That's not the only flavour and it's the only one made with breast milk, promise.'  Thom laughed.  'It's actually amazing.  The popcorn one is my favourite.'


	31. Nothing you could say could ever stop this fire.  Tell me I'm a fool for everything that we do.  Tell me we're a mess and I'll tell you you're a liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Mad Love' – Neon Trees

Blaine woke sweaty and aroused.  Every night had been the same for the past few months - he'd fallen asleep thinking about that expression he'd caught on Kurt's face as he'd watched Blaine and Thom play-fight.  It had been a bad move.  His body had reacted and his dreams had been full of Kurt.  Kurt's legs, his arms, his ass.  That thing he did with his lips...  He felt his cock twitch. 

_Traitor._

He purposefully ignored it knowing he'd suffer for it later and showered.  Feeling fresher he checked his phone as he towel dried his hair.

**2 new messages.**

**Kurt:** Are you awake?

 **Kurt:** Could we meet for breakfast?  I need to talk to you.

 **Blaine:** Sorry - was in the shower.  10 minutes?  The usual cafe in Leicester Square?

 **Kurt:** OK.  :)

 

Hair still damp and curling Blaine reached the cafe just as Kurt did.  He felt his body react to Kurt's genuine smile.

'So, what's the emergency?'  Blaine smiled and Kurt looked down slightly.  Blaine frowned.  Was Kurt flirting with him or was his mind seeing what it wanted to after his dream?  Kurt bit his lip slightly and took Blaine's hand.

'Could we go for a walk?  Um...  I know I said breakfast and everything but...'

'Sure.  Let me grab us some smoothies, OK?'  Kurt nodded.  Blaine shot Kurt a concerned smile and returned shortly after with two smoothies, handing one to Kurt.  'You OK?'

'Yeah.  I just...'

'What's wrong?'

'Look.  My contract is coming up for renewal with the London office - they've given me the option to stay on for another year or to go to Paris...'

'Wow, Kurt.  That is amazing.  Congratulations.  You've always wanted to go to Paris.'

'Blaine, could you just listen for a minute?'

'Hey, sorry Kurt.  What is it?'

'What are we?'

'What do you mean?'

'Am I the only one who feels that there is still something between us or...'

'Kurt...'

'Blaine, please.  I need to know because…  We see each other every day - we joke, we flirt, we go out together to see films and to dinner….'

'Regardless - _Paris_ , Kurt.'

'Paris does not matter to me.'

Blaine frowned.  Kurt had stopped walking and was staring at him, a painfully hopeful expression on his features.

'Look, I don't want to pressure you and I'm not asking you to make a decision right now.  I know your show starts touring after your graduation.  I know you'll be on the road, but I'd like to go with you.  I spoke to my boss and he's happy for me to write my articles on the road, it's not like I need an office to sketch, Blaine.  I... My lease on my apartment is up in the next few weeks and I need to know whether to extend it.'

'What are you asking me, Kurt?'

'Do you love me, Blaine?'

'You know the answer to that.'

'Then what are we doing?'

'I don't know.'

'Look, you know I love you, right?  We're good together.  You're my best friend and I don't think I could leave you again.  I don't want to leave you again.  I'm asking you to get a place with me in London.  A base.  It can be two bedroom - I don't care, Blaine.  This is not me forcing you to make a decision about us.  Do you understand?  I just don't want to be where you aren't.'

'You're crazy, you know that?'

'I know.'

'OK.'

'Was that your answer or were you just accepting my craziness?'

'OK to the flat.'

'Really?'

'If that's what you want.  Look, Kurt.  I'm not there yet.  OK?  But I don't want to leave you behind either.  Who would I meet for coffee, hmm?'

'Thom?'

'Phah!  Thom drinks tea.  You know that.'

'He's in love with you.  You know that.'

Blaine sighed. 

'I don't love Thom.'

'You would have.  If I hadn't come back.  You'd have fallen for him; I think you were falling for him.  Part of him hates me because of that.'

'Kurt, I...'

'Blaine, it’s fine.  I understand.  I really do.  But, please, be honest with me here.  You and I...  Will we get that back do you think?'

'Get what back?'

'Us.'

'We kind of already have...'

'You know what I mean.'

'Kurt, we were young and it was perfect, but it was always going to burn out.'

'It never burnt out for me, Blaine.'

'You know what I mean.  It was not sustainable.'

'But, this.  What we have now.  It's more isn't it?'

'Yes.'

They were standing so close now.  Blaine could feel Kurt's breath on his cheek.

'Yankee!' 

_Shit.  Thom!_

They broke apart startled as Thom, sweaty and slightly out of breath, jogged up to them.

'Oh, hey Kurt!  Haven't seen you in a while.  How're things?'

'Yeah, good thanks, Thom.  You?'  Kurt’s pitch was a little higher than normal when he responded.  Blaine felt insanely guilty, almost overwhelmingly so.

'Busy.  You know what the end of year is like!  Got asked to conduct the orchestra for graduation though.'

'That's excellent, congratulations!'  Blaine’s smile was genuine as he hugged Thom.

'Yeah, mum's really excited.  She's telling everyone.'

'Hey, if you need extra tickets you're welcome to some of mine.'

'Why?'

'Oh, mom and dad are on a cruise that Coop got them for their wedding anniversary and Coop's filming in Hollywood so...'

'...so, I'm going to support him.'  Kurt finished.

'So, I have two spare if you'd like them.  Um...'  Blaine fished his wallet out and pulled the two spare tickets out passing them to Thom.  ‘Here.’

'You sure?'

'Absolutely.'

'Thanks.  Now I don't have to explain to my grandma why it has to be either her or grandpa.'  Thom laughed.  Blaine smiled.

'So, what are you guys up to today then?'

'We're going flat hunting.'  Blaine said shooting a casual glance at Kurt who couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.

'Thought you were off touring soon?'  Thom looked confused.

'Yeah, but it's good to have a base.' 

'Fair enough.'  Thom frowned slightly.  'How about you, Kurt.  You must be almost due to head back to the good ol' US of A right?'

'Kurt's contract has been extended.'

'Oh.  I'm happy for you.'  Thom swallowed and held his hand out to Kurt.  'Congratulations.'  Kurt took his hand and Thom pulled him into a one armed hug.  'Look after him.  He was such a mess, Kurt.  Don’t hurt him,' he spoke low and hurried in Kurt's ear as he squeezed him gently. 

Kurt nodded slightly and met Thom's eyes as they broke apart.

'Thank you, Thom.'

'Ok, well I'd better be off.  Can't afford to let my muscles cool down too much or I'll be in agony tomorrow.  Maybe see you for lunch some time before graduation, Blaine?'

'Sounds good.  I'll text you.'

Thom waved and jogged away.  Blaine watched him go.  Kurt took his hand and squeezed lightly bringing Blaine back from dark thoughts.

'Come on then.'

'Come on where?'  Blaine blinked at Kurt.

'Let's go find us an apartment.'

'They call them flats here you know.'

'I hate that word.  Sounds so...depressing.'

Blaine laughed.

'Don't pretend like you don't know exactly what I mean.'   Kurt mock glared at him.  Blaine smiled.

 

Blaine knew as soon as he walked in through the door.  This was it.  This was them.  Kurt was practically vibrating watching him closely to see whether Blaine approved.  Blaine masked his features and drew it out as the estate agent showed them around.

'And this is the kitchen.’  Blaine rolled his eyes.  Kurt attempted to turn his amusement into a cough.  The estate agent continued oblivious to the exchange.  ‘As you can tell, the owners have recently had it entirely renovated so everything is immaculate.  So, I'll leave you both to discuss.  Feel free to have another wonder around.  The lease would start from the end of the month but as it is empty we could always negotiate for you to move in sooner if you should so choose.'

'Thank you,' Blaine said neutrally.  The small woman smiled and made her way onto the balcony to give them some privacy.  Blaine looked around the open plan kitchen-living area then at Kurt who was seemingly trying to read his mind.

'So?'

'So what, Kurt?'

'What do you think?'

Blaine couldn't stop the grin from crossing his face as he watched Kurt watch him.

'It's perfect.  You know it is.'  Kurt mock slapped his arm.

'It _is_ perfect.' 

'So we negotiate?'

'We negotiate.'

Blaine made his way out to talk to the estate agent while Kurt mentally worked out where all of their things would go and made a list of what they would need to get.

Two weeks later and they were sat cross-legged on the floor eating fish and chips from greaseproof paper in their new flat surrounded by a sea of boxes.  Both were exhausted and Blaine still had a show that evening, but neither could stop grinning.  The production was on break for a month before they began their tour in September after the evening’s show.  Blaine had a new rehearsal schedule - mainly to re-block the scenes that had been specific to their home theatre and would need to be made more flexible for the tour - but for the next 2 weeks he was free. 

Graduation had gone well.  Kurt had got him flowers and kissed him on the cheek, tears in his eyes.  His mother and father had called to congratulate him and to apologise again for not being there.  Blaine had not really noticed their absence.

Thom had been teary as they hugged.  Thom was off home for the summer before he started his new job in Edinburgh.  Blaine promised to let him know when the tour hit Scotland.

The last show went perfectly and they had received a standing ovation.  Blaine could not stop grinning as he made his way back to his new flat.  His flat that he shared _with Kurt_.

Kurt had been busy - the kitchen and living areas were all unpacked with not a hint of a box in sight.  Kurt was nowhere to be seen.  Blaine frowned slightly.

'Kurt?'

No reply.

'Kurt?'  Panic starting to creep through his veins like an injection of ice water.  He dropped his bags and headed towards the bedrooms.

'Kurt?!'

'Blaine?'  He almost feinted with relief when Kurt appeared from the second bedroom.  'Sorry - I must have dosed off.  How was the show?'

'Fine, fine.  You OK?'

'Tired, that's all.  Do you like?'  Kurt gestured to his handiwork.

Blaine smiled.

'You are a miracle worker.'

'I know.  Right, I've pretty much left your room alone because I didn't know how you wanted it.'

Blaine barely managed to hide his disappointment at Kurt's casual mention of 'your room'.  They hadn't discussed any different.  He didn't know why he had been expecting to share a room with Kurt.  They weren't even together...not like that.  The feeling surprised him.  He filed that away to think about later, realising that Kurt expected a reply.

'Well you'll just reorganise whatever I do anyway so you may as well help, come on.'  He led Kurt into the room opposite the one Kurt had seemingly claimed.  Kurt followed, a strange expression on his face.

'Is this OK?  I mean... you weren't here to ask so I just chose a room.'

'No, Kurt, it's fine.  It doesn't bother me.'

Kurt pulled Blaine’s hand lightly and turned him to face him.

'Blaine.  Talk to me.  Your face just fell.  What did I do wrong?'

'Nothing, Kurt.  You did nothing wrong.  I just...'  Blaine sighed.  Kurt waited.  'I just...I don't know.  I guess part of me was looking forward to sharing a room with you.'  Blaine couldn't bring himself to look Kurt in the eyes, he felt so embarrassed.  He felt Kurt drop his hand.  He closed his eyes and sighed again.  'Look, I'm tired.  Can we just forget this?  I'm going to get some sleep.  Thanks for making up my bed.'

'Blaine...' 

'Goodnight, Kurt.'

'Blaine, look at me.'

Blaine slowly opened his eyes.  Kurt was crying. 

'God, Kurt - don't cry.  I'm an idiot.  I'm sorry...'  Blaine was rambling and he knew it.  He just needed to stop Kurt's tears.  His hand had gone to Kurt’s cheek automatically and he gently brushed at a tear with his thumb.

Kurt was smiling.  Why was Kurt smiling?  Kurt closed the distance between them and placed a firm hand on Blaine's jaw cupping his cheek, drawing him into a kiss.  Blaine's breath hitched and his arms automatically wrapped around Kurt's waist drawing them together, his hands fisting in the material of Kurt's shirt.  Their eyes met and Kurt kissed him again.  Longer this time.  Blaine moaned as Kurt's tongue gently parted Blaine's lips.  Kurt sucked Blaine's bottom lip in-between his teeth and bit lightly before releasing it, his other hand moved to run down Blaine's back.

'We shouldn't...'

'I love you, Blaine.'

'I love you.'

Kurt kissed him again, roughly this time, then kissed his jawline and worked his way down his neck.  Their bodies were tight against each other and Blaine could feel Kurt's arousal pressed against his thigh as he knew Kurt would be able to feel his own pressing back.  The room was stuffy - the summer had been a hot one and though the windows were wide open there was no breeze.  Blaine had long since been able to tune out the noise of the city; it was a skill you gained with time.  Now all he could hear was the sound of Kurt's lips, teeth and tongue against his skin, hot and needy.  Blaine slid his fingers under Kurt's shirt and Kurt trembled slightly in response.

'It's far too warm for clothes,' he whispered as he gently tugged at the material.  Kurt released him long enough to allow him to remove his own shirt and Kurt's.  As they breathed apart from each other, they drank each other in.  Their bodies were men's now.  Dark hair smattering their chests and bellies, trailing down enticingly from naval to beyond the belt line.  Blaine reacted physically as he mapped the new definition of Kurt's shoulders, his chest, his toned stomach.  Then he was on his knees in front of Kurt kissing his chest, kissing his stomach, running his hands over skin, worshiping.  Kurt moaned as Blaine sucked the skin just in the dip of his hip, hands in Blaine's hair, eyes closed.  Blaine hooked an arm under Kurt's ass and hauled him onto the bed behind them, covering Kurt's body with his own.  All he could smell was Kurt in the heavy air.  Intoxicating.  He felt his blood roaring through his ears as he licked and kissed the salt from Kurt's skin.  He felt Kurt shift beneath him then found himself flat on his back with Kurt straddling him.  Kurt ran both hands down Blaine's chest and over his abs, adding nails lightly as he reached Blaine's trousers.  He deftly undid his belt then unbuttoned him with one hand as he kissed Blaine on the mouth.

'So beautiful, Blaine.'

Kurt gently tugged at Blaine's trousers, wordlessly asking him to lift his pelvis up.  Blaine toed off his shoes then complied and let Kurt pull down his trousers and underwear, watching as Kurt stripped down.

Kurt climbed back on the bed placing kisses up Blaine's inner thigh and groin as he moved back up the bed.  Blaine's hands reached for Kurt's ass, his back, any skin, but Kurt smiled and took both his hands, pulling them up above his head.

'No.'  Gentle but firm. 

_This is new._

Blaine needed to touch Kurt but Kurt increased the pressure on Blaine's wrists holding them both in place with one hand as he returned to kissing Blaine's collarbones and chest.  His free hand playing lightly with Blaine’s chest hair.

'God, Kurt.'  Blaine moaned as Kurt drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly and scraping it with his teeth as he released it.

Blaine felt his hips buck up slightly under Kurt as his aching cock sought friction.  Kurt smiled.

'Stay.  I'll be right back.'  Kurt left the room and Blaine couldn't bring himself to move, terrified that he was about to wake up, that if he moved it would all be over.  He heard Kurt rummaging through boxes in the other room then return triumphant, a small bottle of lube in his hand.

He climbed back up the bed and kissed Blaine, leaving the lube on the side for the moment.  He gently griped Blaine's wrists again.

'Blaine?'

'Hm?'

'I want you to leave your hands here, OK?'

'OK.'

'Good.'  Kurt was smiling and reaching for the lube.  Blaine watched in awe as Kurt liberally applied lube to his fingers and then gradually began to finger himself open.  Blaine's mind short circuited and he made to reach for Kurt.

'Hands, Blaine.'  Kurt reminded him as he closed his eyes, fucking himself harder now, and adding another finger.  He moaned loudly – it was the most pornographic noise.

'God, Kurt.'  Blaine watched as Kurt sucked on his own bottom lip.  One hand lazily palming his own cock while he fucked back onto the fingers of his other hand.  Blaine watched as Kurt pulled his fingers free, reaching over him for the bottle.  He popped the cap and looked at Blaine as he poured more lube into his palm, gently heating it.

'Let me take care of you tonight, OK?'

Blaine nodded his acceptance and Kurt finally touched his straining cock, coating it in lube and releasing some of the tension, Blaine's hips bucked again.  It had been so long.  Why had it been so long? 

                ‘Kurt?’  Blaine cursed his brain, but he needed to know.

                ‘What, baby?’

                ‘Condom?’

                ‘You’re clean, right?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘So am I.  I can get one if you’d prefer?’  Kurt lazily stroked Blaine’s cock again.

                ‘No…I trust you.’ 

Kurt smiled and positioned himself over Blaine and then sank down firmly.  Blaine's breath hitched as he felt himself pressed against the first ring of muscle, willing himself not to buck his hips, willing himself to let Kurt take control.  He felt Kurt relax then start to move again.  The tight draw as Kurt took him in was almost too much and Blaine tried to focus on not moving his hands.  He desperately wanted to touch, to kiss, to do something.  Kurt bowed his head as he sat down all the way against Blaine's pelvis then started to pull up again, slowly.  So slowly.  Blaine moaned and tried to bite his own shoulder.  Kurt captured his lips with his own as he sank back down.  It was too much and Blaine tilted his hips.  He felt Kurt's reaction around himself as Kurt groaned.  Blaine grinned and repeated the motion over and over.

'God, Blaine.  Yes.  Oh, God.  Oh, God, ohGodohGodGod.  Blaine!'  Kurt came across their bellies and Blaine was seconds behind, all thoughts of keeping his hands still gone as Kurt clenched around him and he gripped Kurt's ass, burrowing his head into the side of his neck.  They leant against each other panting as they came back to themselves.  Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt's neck and Kurt kissed the side of his face in return. 

'Shower?'  Kurt asked as they separated slowly.  Blaine laughed.  Kurt leant forward and kissed Blaine chastely then took his hand.  'Come on you.'


	32. I've got these habits that I cannot break and as I'm older there is more at stake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Sins of my Youth' – Neon Trees

The first time it happens Blaine blows it off – he thinks it is sort of sweet how much Kurt cares for him. 

‘Oh my God, Blaine, I’m so sorry!  Let me look!  We need to get you to the hospital.’  Kurt is flapping - that may be an understatement.  Blaine rolls his eyes and tries not to wince as he moves the bag of frozen peas he holds to his head lightly. 

‘It is fine, Kurt.  It’s just a little bump.’  Blaine tries to reassure Kurt but he merely looks at him as if he is mentally impaired and, taking it as confirmation of his fears, starts to put on his coat.

‘It is not fine, Blaine.’  Kurt is almost in tears he is so worked up.  Blaine puts the peas down and pulls Kurt into a hug, effectively stopping Kurt’s frantic movements.  Kurt sobs against his chest as Blaine gently strokes his back.

‘Shhhh.  I’m fine, Kurt - I’ll be fine.’

Kurt pulls away from him slightly but Blaine holds him tight.

                ‘It was my stupid fault, Kurt.  I didn’t check before I stood up that’s all.  It’s OK.  I’m OK – I promise.’

                ‘I should have warned you!  You probably have concussion.  It’s all my fault.  I…  I can’t lose you.’

                ‘Hey… hey, calm down.  I’m OK.  It wasn’t that hard a bump.’

                ‘It was audible, Blaine.’

Blaine laughs slightly and kisses the top of Kurt’s head.

                ‘If it makes you feel better we can go to A&E, OK?’

Kurt nods and grabs Blaine’s hand practically dragging him out of their flat and towards the bus stop.  Blaine follows with no complaint.

                The second time it happens - they accidentally collide heads with a sickening _thwack_ during an impromptu make-out session - Blaine tries to understand because he realises that Kurt may be a little entitled to paranoia about head injuries when it comes to Blaine.  However, it rapidly gets frustrating for Blaine to be constantly reminded of his own mortality.  He tries to explain to Kurt that ~~when~~ _if_ he has another aneurism it will probably be unprompted and will simply kill him outright.  His coping mechanism turns out to be very different to Kurt’s and they have the first of many heated arguments that end with both of them in tears wrapped in each others’ arms expressing their love to each other between desperate kisses.

Blaine tries to understand Kurt’s perspective – Kurt is no stranger to losing those he loves to things he has no control over.  It was the whole reason Kurt could not cope when he had first found out about Blaine’s ‘condition’.  However, Blaine cannot live with constant reminders of his mortality. 

There are bad times, of course.  Kurt attempts to reaffirm how important it is that they ‘live each day to the full’ and flies into a complete panic any time Blaine has a headache, or hits his head, or has a migraine, or feels under the weather.  Blaine, conversely, needs to just get on with his life and forget about the ‘what if’s – whatever will happen will happen.  He has no control over it - so why worry?  Being constantly reminded of his mortality, or being treated as if he is precious china, or worse still - like he is _Sick_ , just agitates and upsets him.  It is the source of almost all of their arguments – even the ones that appear to be about something else on the surface (such as when Kurt got really upset about Blaine never wanting to do anything when he actually has time off from the show) really boiled down to Kurt’s paranoia about losing Blaine (‘We just have so much to do together, Blaine!  We cannot afford to waste time doing nothing!  What if I lose you and we never got to see <insert tourist destination / venue / show / etc. here>?  How can you be so relaxed about things?!’).

But there are also times when everything is absolutely perfect and everything just _works_.  Times when both cannot stop smiling and marvelling at how lucky they were to have found each other in the first place, how lucky they have been to get a second chance.  Those days outweigh the bad days when they are both together.  They are both older now – both in their early twenties they are no longer teenagers, and they learnt the hard way the importance of communication.  They are still learning about each other but they are certain that they will get there – together.          

                                                                                                        

Almost a year into Blaine’s _Wicked_ tour Kurt receives news that he needs to be at the main office in London for the next three months.  Kurt’s fingers shake after the call and it takes him two attempts before he actually manages to hang up.  They had not been apart since the day they moved in together – true to his word Kurt had stayed with Blaine as the show had toured, staying in hotel after hotel.  Kurt understood his boss’ point of view – the London Fashion Week was in less than 2 months time and he was needed back in the city.  Fashion Week was mid-September so he would be stuck in London from the end of July to mid-October at a minimum.  Kurt pulled up the tour schedule on his phone:

 **Birmingham Hippodrome** : 4th April – 28th July, 19:30 weekdays Tuesday-Saturday, 14:30 Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday

 **Edinburgh Playhouse** : 14th August – 18th January, 19:30 weekdays Tuesday-Saturday, 14:30 Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday, excluding 24th-25th and 31st December and 1st January

 **Theatre Royal Plymouth** : 31st January – 15th March, 19:30 weekdays Tuesday-Saturday, 14:30 Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday

Blaine would be in Birmingham until the 29th July but he had a couple of weeks off before the tour moved to Edinburgh.  At least they would get some time together – Blaine could come back to London for his break.  That still left almost two months where they would not get to see each other.  Two months. 

Part of Kurt really looks forwards to being able to actually spend time living at their flat for more than a week or two at a time.  To not having to live in a hotel room.  To not having to live out of a suitcase.  A larger part is terrified – the last time they had been apart Kurt had immersed himself in work and Blaine had…  Kurt dismisses the thought.  They were stronger now.  More grown up.  He trusts Blaine.  Besides – Blaine wouldn’t have time to _do_ anything outside of his show schedules.  Kurt worries – what if something happens to Blaine while he is not there? 

_What if what if what if what if…._

                Blaine stumbles through the door to their hotel room at 11pm barely awake and in desperate need of a shower and sleep to find Kurt pacing, agitated and utterly worked up.  Rather than crumble as Kurt feared he would Blaine instead calms Kurt explaining how it really is not that long a time, that nothing bad will happen and that with them both being so busy time will fly by.  Soothed by Blaine’s insistence that all would be well Kurt eventually stops fretting and sleeps.  Blaine follows soon after reassured by his own insistence that everything would be fine.


	33. Questions for questions - I've got a question: Would you ever dance with me like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Girls and Boys In School' - Neon Trees

A week after the call, Kurt moves back to London.  They had spent most of the week spending as much time with each other as possible around Blaine’s show schedule and were both looking forward to Blaine’s two week break which, naturally, would be spent in London.  Kurt had underestimated how busy he would be back in the office after so many months working on the road, but they manage to make time to talk to each other even though Blaine’s schedule is not exactly work-hour friendly.  The weeks fly by while they are both busy and Blaine soon finds himself back in the city which he had so quickly loved, in a flat which feels more like home than any other place he has lived.  He had no real idea what to do with the time off – he felt at a loose end.  The weekends were fine – Kurt was there to occupy him, but his _Theatre_ lifestyle of late nights and late starts had resulted in a sleep pattern that was not really conducive to seeing Kurt in the morning.  His days were long and empty.  He did not know what to do with himself.  He spent the first couple of days recuperating, the rest he spent re-exploring the city – always ensuring he was home before Kurt to make sure dinner was on the table.  Kurt would tell him all about his day – who he had met, the latest gossip from the catwalk, who was secretly having an affair with whom – over dinner and Blaine would smile and laugh and nod along.  But Blaine felt as if he did not really fit.  He did not know the people Kurt was talking about.  He started to feel as if he was a stranger in his own home – the weeks Kurt had spent on his own in London had resulted in him creating a little schedule – a pattern.  A pattern which Blaine was interrupting. 

He starts to pick up on one name – _Michael_.  Kurt is always telling him about Michael.  About how Michael had saved the day with this idea or that idea, or how Michael had told the best joke, or made the bitchiest comment about so-and-so’s latest line.  Everything was Michael, Michael, Michael.  Blaine could hardly be surprised really – Kurt spent more time with Michael than he did with Blaine. 

He tries to talk to Kurt about his insecurities – but it comes out all wrong.  Kurt reassures him that Michael is just a friend and that Blaine is being ridiculous.  Blaine gives up.

                Three days before Blaine has to leave for Scotland he finally meets Michael.  Kurt had practically begged Blaine to accompany him to a networking party – a pre-event for the journalists really.  Blaine had agreed to make Kurt happy.  Anything to make Kurt happy.

Kurt had been in his element – he really was made for situations like this.  The evening had actually been really nice – Kurt had introduced Blaine to some of his colleagues at Vogue.co.uk – it was nice to be able to put face to names finally.  Kurt had introduced them as they had drifted over and they had all been really welcoming and friendly. 

The evening wore on and the bubbly was flowing freely – the food had been amazing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Kurt had excused himself when he had spotted a fellow American correspondent for another fashion publication, leaving Blaine with both of their drinks and a group of female journalists who were grilling him on what it was like to act on a West End stage.

Blaine had no idea how much time had passed – he had been wrapped up in conversation, but when he looked up he had been mildly surprised to see a tall, blonde, and absolutely stunning man sidled up next to Kurt his arm around his waist.  Blaine assumed him to be one of the catwalk models and thought nothing of it – they were notorious for not eating and then drinking too much alcohol.  Another question about whether or not he would move to Broadway brought him back to his conversation companions until two friends of Kurt’s seemed to notice something, spoke in hushed voices, then attempted to lead Blaine to the bar away from where they were presently standing.  Made curious by the odd and unsubtle behaviour Blaine had scanned the dance floor.  Kurt and the blonde were dancing.  He watched for a moment as the blonde guy twirled Kurt around the floor – both were obviously quite far gone.  Come to think of it – Blaine could not recall Kurt having anything to eat that evening.  They were both laughing.  He tried to ignore them – trusting Kurt to know what he was doing – and re-joined the group’s conversation, but he kept an eye on the dance floor.

                ‘Don’t worry.’  A red-and-black haired lady in her late 20’s half-shouted over the background cacophony.  Her name was _Jade_ his brain supplied.  Blaine raised an eyebrow questioningly.

                ‘About Kurt.’  She explained.

                ‘I’m not.’  He replied.  She looked at him disbelievingly.

                ‘That’s just Michael.  They’re always like that.’

Blaine’s heart hammered against his chest.  The confusion must have registered on his face as Jade suddenly went red as if she realised what she had just said.

                ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’

Blaine did not hear the rest of what she had to say.  He had already mumbled apologies to his companions and had left the room.  He felt sick.

                He could not recall getting back to the flat but he found himself unlocking the door with a shaking hand.  His head hurt and he needed to think.  There was obviously an explanation – he just needed Kurt to explain it to him that was all.  _Kurt_.  He had left Kurt at the party.

… _Not that he would notice…_

Blaine pushed the dark thought to the side and reached for his phone to text Kurt.

 **Blaine:** Sorry, baby – the music was giving me a headache.  Went home.  Will prob be asleep when you get in. xXx

He dropped the phone onto the coffee table and dropped down onto the couch.  He needed to be logical here – he was over-reacting.  He was just jealous that’s all.  Kurt loved him and he loved Kurt.  There was no way, not after all they had been through together that Kurt would…

… _But you did_ …

Blaine ran his fingers through his hair.  His head and heart pounding; his blood hammering in his ears.  He took a deep breath. 

_Stop it.  Kurt loves you.  You love Kurt.  They were just drunk.  Drunk friends.  If it had been a girl you would have been fine with it.  It’s just because he happens to be a guy.  A very, very attractive guy…_

… _who Kurt talks about all the time.  Jade said they are like that together all the time_ …

_No.  It is all in your head.  They were just dancing.  It’s not like they were making out.  This is just your own insecurities manifesting to torture yourself._

… _if you say so_ …

Blaine groaned. 

                _I’ll wait up until he gets back then we will talk.  He’ll tell me I’m being a jealous, insecure idiot and we will laugh about it._

… _Are you really that naive?..._

 

                Blaine had stayed awake until the early hours.  Kurt had not come home.  He had checked his phone compulsively for a reply text from Kurt, but as the sun had risen so had the darker thoughts – Kurt had not come home.  Maybe he had spent the night at a friend’s.  Maybe he had spent the night with Michael.  Maybe Kurt had lost his phone and was panicking because he did not know where Blaine was.  Maybe Kurt had finally left him.  Maybe…Maybe…Maybe.

 

                Keys in the door at 2pm announced Kurt’s return.  Kurt looked rough.  Blaine looked worse. 


	34. You’re like a drug that I just can’t kick - I give you up and it makes me sick.  The shakes come on and they come on quick.  You’re like a drug that I just can’t quit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Like a Drug' - Hard Fi
> 
>  
> 
> In case you did not see it - I have added a Prologue to the story. Couldn't work out how to make it go before Chapter 1 so I added it to the beginning of Chapter 1. Thanks for reading so far. I'm aiming to update with at least a chapter a week. As always - comments / reviews = love. Unbeta'd so apologies for any mistakes. I love you all.
> 
> ~ Sapphy ~
> 
> p.s. Bonus points to whoever can figure out what is happening. ;) 
> 
> ~x~x~x~o~x~x~x~

‘Hey, sweetie.  How’s your head?’  Kurt is looking at him with genuine concern.

                ‘How’s yours?’  Blaine tries to keep his voice even.  He needs answers and an argument now is not what either of them would need. 

                ‘Eugh.  Remind me never to drink again!  I feel like there is a parade of elephants in here – I spent most of the early hours talking to God on the porcelain phone.’  Kurt flops down next to Blaine on the sofa and leans his head against Blaine’s shoulder.  Blaine smiles slightly – Kurt looks so adorable all dishevelled, wearing yesterday’s clothes.

                ‘Next time just have something to eat first.’  Kurt smiles at his comment.  Blaine frowns slightly.  ‘Where did you stay?  I was worried about you.’

                ‘Oh, honey – I’m sorry.  I figured you’d be resting and I didn’t want to disturb you.’

                ‘You didn’t tell me you weren’t coming home.  I couldn’t sleep - I kept seeing…forget it.  You’re OK that’s all that matters.’  Kurt smiles slightly at him.  He knows there’s something more but is too tired to push.  Kurt snuggles into him and Blaine rests his head on Kurt’s.  Blaine’s mind is racing – the thoughts dark and self-deprecating.

                _Kurt is fine.  It was all a misunderstanding.  You got yourself worked up over absolutely nothing.  He was enjoying himself with a friend which he is entitled to do and you read into it._

_But what if he’s bored of me?_

_He’s in love with you and you are with him.  Everything is fine.  He’s with you now isn’t he?_

_But he wasn’t last night._

_Because he thought you had a bad headache and didn’t want to disturb you.  See!  He cares about you._

_But he stayed with Michael._

_Yes, and spent the whole time being violently ill – he explained that._

_But…_

_Enough ‘but’s.  You’re torturing yourself for no good reason._

_He deserves better than you.  Serves you right if he did cheat on you.  That would make you even wouldn’t it?  Maybe that was his plan all along.  Build you up to break you down.  It would make sense._

_Stop it.  That’s ridiculous.  Kurt would never…_

_But you have left him alone in the city, and you’re about to leave again.  He’s bound to get lonely.  You couldn’t last a couple of weeks apart before – what makes you think anything has changed.  He told you last time – he told you he had had temptations…_

_Stop it.  This is ridiculous._

_You don’t deserve him.  You know that._

_I love him._

_Does he love you?_

_Yes._

_What makes you sure?  What makes you so certain?  Ask him – go on._

_I trust him._

_So?_

_I don’t need to ask him because I trust him._

_You are pathetic._

Blaine closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking.  Everything would be alright.  He had a couple more days before he had to travel up to Scotland - he did not want to spend them angry and he certainly did not want to hurt Kurt by asking him stupid questions just to soothe his own stupid anxiety and guilt.  He kissed the top of Kurt’s head and breathed in the scent of the man he adored.

                ‘Are you still awake?’

Kurt’s muffled groan was all the answer he needed.  Blaine forced a smile.

                ‘Come on – we both need to get some actual sleep.  Bed?’

Kurt lifted his head to allow Blaine to get up.  He flopped onto the sofa as Blaine moved and held out a hand.  Blaine took it and hoisted Kurt to his feet then led him to the bedroom. 

 

                The next day was perfect – Kurt had surprised him by taking the day off to spend it with Blaine.  He’d worked hours of overtime to wangle the time off.  They spent the day in the bedroom, only emerging for food.  Neither wanted to admit they were actually saying ‘goodbye’ for _weeks_.  They mapped each other’s skin, both trying to commit to memory the taste of each other, the noises each other made, both trying to make the day last forever. 

 

                Blaine’s alarm clock woke them both and Blaine had never heard such a horrific sound.  In less than 5 hours he would be in Edinburgh, 405.2 miles away from Kurt (not that he had looked it up).  652.1 kilometres.  6 hours and 44 minutes by car.  1 hour and 10 minutes by aeroplane. 

_Lima to New York was 591.3 miles (951.6 kilometres) look what happened then._

Blaine rolled over to snuggle back up to Kurt.  Kurt’s arm pulled Blaine in closer to him.

                ‘I love you.’

                ‘I love you too.’

                ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Blaine.’

                ‘I love you, Kurt.’

                ‘I know.’

                ‘I mean it.’

                ‘I know.  I love you too.’

Kurt kissed him hard.

 

 

                ‘You have to get up, baby.’  Kurt mumbled into Blaine’s hair.

‘In a minute.’

                ‘Come on, honey.  It’s been 15 minutes.  You’ll miss your flight.’

                ‘I don’t care.’

                ‘Yes you do.  You love your job.  Come on – get up.’

                ‘I love you more.’

                ‘I know.  Come on.  Up up.’

                ‘You just want me gone.’

                ‘You know that’s not true.’

                ‘I know.’  Blaine sighed but made no hint of intending to actually move.  Kurt sighed.

                ‘Don’t make me force you out of bed, Blaine.’

Blaine clung on to Kurt and pretended to fall asleep.  Kurt laughed lightly and poked him in the ribs.

                ‘Come on, Blaine.  Get up.  If you miss this flight the production manager may shoot you.’

                ‘He wouldn’t shoot me.  He loves me.’

                ‘You’re right - everyone loves you.  He’d shoot me instead.’

                ‘Lies.’

                ‘No lies!’

Blaine smiled slightly and ran his hand over the fine hair on Kurt’s bare chest.

                ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Kurt.’

                ‘I’m going to miss you too.  Come on – I’ll make you coffee.’

                ‘I am immune to bribery.’

                ‘Now we both know that is not true.’  Kurt gave Blaine a knowing smile and ran his hand down Blaine’s naked torso, dragging his fingertips until he reached Blaine’s hip bone.  Blaine moaned as Kurt’s fingers ran circles near the edge of his pubic hair.  Blaine kissed Kurt’s throat and let his own hand drift down to Kurt’s ass.  Kurt smiled slightly, kissed Blaine back and whispered, ‘Sorry, baby,’ before tickling him, stealing the sheets and dashing from the bed laughing.  ‘You’ll forgive me later – now get up and I’ll get you that coffee.’

                ‘I hate you.’  Blaine laughed as he lay where he had fallen flat on the mattress.

                ‘You love me.  Now get up!’


	35. Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?  How I wish, how I wish you were here.  We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old ground.  What have we found? The same old fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Wish you were here' - Pink Floyd

                The room was small – a bed, a small kitchen and a bathroom.  Pretty standard really – all one person would need.  The view from the window was inspiring at least – beautiful Victorian and Georgian buildings towered over each other in all their granite glory.  Blaine sighed.  Shame it was raining.  Again.  The city was beautiful at night – the sodium of the streetlights shining off the slick stone.  Blaine watched the swarm of umbrellas swirling below him.  He gently leant his head against the cool glass of the window and sighed. 

Rehearsals in the new theatre had gone well and the show was back on – he felt as if he had never stopped.  As if London and Kurt was a distant dream – something that happened a long time ago.  They called each other as often as they could – they had known it would be difficult as generally Blaine was working when Kurt was not and vice versa.  Blaine had thought it would be OK – it was only a couple of weeks when you looked at it really.  It should be easy – they were both older, more mature, more able to cope with an adult long-distance relationship.  He’d tried calling that evening on the off-chance Kurt would be free – no answer.  He was not really surprised.  He sighed again and watched as the cool glass steamed up under his breath.  He drew a heart in the condensation, watching as it gradually disappeared.  He huffed against the pane again – watching as the heart reappeared briefly before once again vanishing.  He had spent hours as a child wondering at the magic of such a simple act – marvelling at the possibilities, imagining secret messages and spy missions.  His mind wandered to Sam.  They had been so close once.  He wondered what he was doing these days.  On a whim Blaine logged into Skype on his phone – Sam was not online.  But Thom was.

 **Blaine:** Taffy!  Guess where I am….

He waited.  He felt nervous.  Why?  He had no reason to feel nervous.  He was starting to worry – to let his mind run away from him:

_What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?  It’s been months._

_What if he hates me._

_What if…_

when his phone buzzed.

**1 new message.**

His hands shook slightly as he read the reply.

 **Thom:**  Yankee!  How are things?  I’ve not heard from you in aaaaaaaages.  How the devil are you?  You should be in Edinburgh now – I thought of you when the posters started going up.  Must say – looking good.  ;)

 **Blaine** : Correct!  I am indeed in the ‘burgh.  Sorry for the retinal burns my image must have caused you.   Let me buy you a drink to make up for it?

 **Thom:** Sounds perfect.  Do you know where St. Mary’s Cathedral is?  West end of New Town on Palmerston Place.  From your theatre go to the Hillside bus stop then take the 26 towards Clermiston get off at Haymarket and you’re pretty much there.  Call me when you get here and I’ll come meet you – I’m just finishing up.

 **Blaine:** On my way.

He smiled – this is exactly what he needed – a friend and a distraction.

 

                He ducked into the shelter of the cathedral to escape the rain – he’d forgotten an umbrella in his rush to get over to Thom.  The building itself was beautiful – gothic style architecture at its finest.  Blaine shook his head slightly as another icy drop of water dripped from his hair down his neck.  He tried the door but it was locked unsurprisingly.  He could, however, hear a choir practicing.  Memories flooded back to him – Thom playing the organ in the small church in London, hours of practice where Blaine had kept him company turning the pages as Thom played.  The air heavy with dust and incense.  He smiled as he pulled his phone out and shot off a quick text.

 **Blaine:** Outside.  May have forgotten an umbrella…  Someone ordered wet scarecrow right?

He shivered.  His heart was racing.  He heard talking and the sound of someone fiddling with the lock.  The door opened inwards slowly and he was met by a compact dark haired guy with piercing green eyes. 

                ‘Uh… hi.  I’m looking for Thom.  Thom Phillips?’

                ‘Blaine, right?’

Blaine nodded.  The guy smiled and gestured for Blaine to enter.

                ‘I’m Matt.  Mylesy sent me to let you in.  It’s bloody chucking it down tonight isn’t it!’  Matt stepped aside to let Blaine enter then closed and bolted the heavy door again.  ‘He’ll be finished in a couple of minutes.  Come with me.’  Blaine frowned slightly at Matt’s use of Thom’s first name – he had almost forgotten that Thom was actually his middle name.  Blaine followed Matt around behind the back row of pews towards an anti-chamber.  He glanced up towards the altar as he walked and tried to spot Thom to no avail.

                ‘Myles talks about you all the time.  Can I get you a cup of tea?’

Blaine’s attention flickered back to Matt.  He took in the man before him and was struck again by the shocking emerald of his eyes.  He was shorter than Blaine but their colouring was similar.  Matt’s hair was cropped close to his scalp so it was difficult to tell whether it would be naturally curly like Blaine’s or straight like Thom’s.  He was dressed quite casually in dark jeans and a hoodie that bore the _Assassin’s Creed_ logo.  Matt smiled at Blaine as Blaine nodded his reply.

                ‘That would actually be amazing, thank you.  So, how do you know Thom…uh…I mean Myles?’

                ‘Mylesy and I go way back.’  Matt explained as he filled the kettle and re-seated it on its base to boil.  ‘We went to Monmouth Boys’ School together – we were in the same house.’

Blaine frowned slightly.

                ‘A house is like in Harry Potter – you get sorted into houses then that is like your team for sports and such.  We were in Severn.  They’re all named after rivers.  Sorry, I don’t know where my manners have gone.  I’m Matthew Hywel Davies.’  Matt held his hand out and Blaine shook it.

                ‘Blaine Devon Anderson.’           

                ‘It’s just Mylesy talks about you so often I feel like I already know you.  He was thrilled when you text him.  He literally squealed.’

                ‘I did nothing of the sort and you know it, Davies.’  Blaine spun around at the sound of Thom’s voice.  ‘Well hello stranger!’  Thom enveloped Blaine in a hug that probably went on a little longer than was necessary.  When Thom released Blaine he noticed that Matt had returned to making the tea.

                ‘Milk and sugar?’  Matt asked softly.

                ‘Just milk for Yankee.  Wouldn’t want to affect his figure which, I must say, _damn_ Blaine.  Seriously.  You were always fit but all this time on stage is treating you well.  Don’t you think so, Davies?’

Matt smiled and nodded as he handed Blaine and Thom a cup each of orange-brown liquid.

                ‘I apologise in advance – the tea here is awful.’  Thom grinned.  ‘So, long time no see!  How’s life treating you?  What’s it like being famous?’

                ‘I’m not famous.’

                ‘Bah!  You are famous enough for the reviewers to mention you by name.  What did that one paper say, Davies?’

                ‘ _Blaine Anderson is a name to note – you’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the future._ ’  Matt filled in as he studied Thom and Blaine.  Blaine blushed slightly.

                ‘That makes me sound like a porn star or something,’ Blaine laughed.  Thom almost snorted his tea everywhere.  ‘Sorry, Thom!  Shouldn’t make you laugh as you drink!  Anyway, are you Myles again now or am I still OK calling you Thom?’

                ‘Oh, that.  Well there were two Phillipses at school so I got called Myles.  They used to call us by our surnames, see.  So, Davies here knew me as ‘Myles’ from school and I called him ‘Davies’ and they kind of stuck.  No one else here calls me Myles – they all call me Thom.’

                ‘That is not at all confusing, Thom.’

                ‘I know.’  Thom smiled at Blaine and Blaine found himself looking to see if anything about Thom had changed – there were one or two new lines around his eyes, but he looked relaxed and healthy and happy. 

                ‘So, Blaine.  How are things with that fashion writer you were seeing - Kurt, was it you said Myles?’  Matt said attempting to draw Thom and Blaine back into the real world and out of each other’s eyes. 

                ‘Uh, yeah.  Kurt.  He’s fine.  He’s working London Fashion Week so he’s back in London.’             

                ‘That must be tough, I mean after what happened last time you guys were apart...’  Matt gave Blaine a pitying look.  Blaine frowned and looked at Thom who looked panicked.

                ‘God, Blaine, I’m sorry.  I just… I tell him everything, you know.  He’s my best friend.’  Thom tried to backpedal but Blaine just felt sick.

                ‘Everything, huh?’  Blaine could not hide the hurt he knew must have been clear as day on his features.  He had trusted Thom with his deepest darkest secrets and for Matt, a stranger to Blaine, to know something so personal…  Blaine stood up.  ‘Thanks for the tea.  It was nice to meet you, Matt.’  He left the room and headed straight for the door, fumbling with the bolt, his hands were shaking so badly.

                ‘Blaine!  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what came over him – I really don’t.  He had no right to bring that up he doesn’t even know you.’

                ‘No.  He doesn’t know me.  He has no right to know anything about me, Thom.’  Blaine whirled around to face his friend, tears in his eyes.  ‘God, I’m so stupid.  Why did I even come here?’

                ‘Blaine, please.  I shouldn’t have told him – I’m so sorry.  I just…I never thought you two would actually meet.’

                ‘What?  You knew I was headed to Edinburgh with the tour.  You knew I’d see you!’

                ‘No.  I didn’t.  It’s been almost a year, Blaine.  You were like a brother to me and then _he_ comes back into your life and then suddenly you’ve no time for me!’

                ‘How could you betray my trust like that?  How can you think so little of me?’

                ‘I don’t, Blaine.  I just…  I’m in love with you!’

Blaine took a step backwards he felt like he had been punched.  He remembered talking about Thom with Kurt when Kurt had re-entered his life so dramatically.

 

_'He's in love with you.  You know that.'_

_Blaine sighed._

_'I don't love Thom.'_

_'You would have.  If I hadn't come back.  You'd have fallen for him; I think you were falling for him.  Part of him hates me because of that.'_

 

Blaine looked up to catch the distraught look on Matt’s face at Thom’s declaration.  Matt must have followed them.  Thom caught the look in Blaine’s eyes and turned, panicked.

                ‘I can’t believe you lied to me.’

                ‘Dav…’

                ‘No.  No, Myles.  You don’t get to sweet-talk your way out of this one.  Not this time.  I could play second fiddle to a guy who wasn’t in your life anymore, who you never had a chance with, because you were all mine when we were together.  You said you were over him.  You said I meant something to you.  You…  I can’t do this, Myles.  Not anymore.  I waited for you.  I waited for you at school when your homophobic shit of a father had messed you up so much you hated yourself too much to let anyone love you.  I waited for you when you ran away and went to uni away from all your friends, far away from _me_.  I waited for you when you said you’d call and never did.  I waited for you when you slept with every gay, stray and bi guy you could find who was not me because they didn’t love you so you could revel in self-pity.  But who was there for you when you cried for _hours_ over this American guy who you were utterly in love with when his ex-boyfriend showed up again and took him away from you?  Who was there to pick up the pieces?  I have loved you, Myles, for years and I thought… I thought you finally loved me back.  What was this last year to you?  Some sort of game?  A consolation prize?  Dammit you are better than him.  You are worth more than some cheating Yank who waltzes into your life whenever he is lonely.  He’s probably just on the pull again because his boyfriend is down in London.  Once a cheater always a cheater.’

                ‘Don’t you _dare_ talk about him that way.  You know nothing, Matthew.  You don’t know Blaine, or Kurt or me.  You are so self-centred.  I thought you’d changed – that you’d finally grown-up.  This isn’t school any more – this is real life.’

                ‘Where the hell do you get off saying that to me, Myles?  How do you think it made me feel to know you’d rather be with him?  How do you think it made me feel when you get all excited because of a random text out of the blue, huh?’

                ‘That’s all it ever is with you, Matthew – me, me, me.  God, I’m so sick of it.  Nothing I do is every good enough.  We argue all the time – you are always talking me down in front of people – telling everyone who’ll listen how I slept around in London.  Yes, I did.  I’m not proud of it!’

                ‘I think you are.  Deep down, Myles.  Deep down you know that no one could ever love you as much as I do.  You know you don’t deserve it.  You’re pathetic.  He’s not interested in you.  Give up!  Don’t bother crawling back to me when he leaves again or when he goes crawling back to his boyfriend and doesn’t talk to you again for another year.  I’m done.  Goodbye, Myles.  I think you’d better find your own place to stay tonight.  I’ll pack your things – you can pick them up tomorrow.’

Blaine watched mouth agape as Matt stormed back into the anteroom, slamming the door behind him.  Thom was shaking.  Blaine gingerly took a step towards Thom and gently pulled him into his arms.  Thom crumpled against him, shaking violently as sobs racked his body.

                ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over him, he’s… God… Blaine, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…’

                ‘Hey, hey.  It’s OK.  Shhhh…’  Blaine tried to soothe him, ‘come on.  It’ll be OK, Thom.  You’re so much better than that idiot.  He’s nothing – just an angry, jealous fool.  Don’t listen to a word he said.’      

                ‘But he’s right, Blaine.  He’s right.’

                ‘What about?’ 

Thom pulled away slightly and looked up into Blaine’s eyes.

                ‘I’m nothing.  You are so much better than me.’

                ‘Stop that right now.  You are one of the kindest, best people I have ever had the pleasure to know.  I’ve been a self-centred ass, Thom.  I’m so sorry.  Please forgive me.  I’m crap at this kind of thing.  I promise to keep in contact with people and I just end up hurting everyone I care about – first Kurt, then Sam, now you.’

                ‘Sam?’

                ‘I…  I promised to keep in touch with him.  He got me through the whole Kurt thing the first time around.’

                ‘I remember you saying.’

                ‘I should have learnt by now.  Relationships take work.  I self-sabotage.  Whenever there’s distance involved – I don’t call as often as I should and then so much time has passed I feel awkward picking up the phone.  I’m so sorry, Thom.  I should have been there for you.  I’ve been such a terrible friend to you.’

                ‘I’m sorry I told Matthew about… you know.  You and Kurt.  I just.  I was hurting really bad, Blaine.  That day you randomly bumped into Kurt in London – I was going to ask you out.  It had to be that day didn’t it?  I missed my chance with you and at first I thought I’d back off and let you work out your head because Kurt reappearing after so long must have been so confusing for you, especially with all you’d been through with your operation and everything, but then it was like he’d never left.  You two are destined for each other.  I could never compete with that.  I just…  I wanted to feel that.  I wanted someone to love me as much as Kurt loves you.  As much as you love Kurt.’

                ‘And Matthew was there.’         

                ‘That makes me sound like such a terrible person doesn’t it?’

                ‘No.  No it doesn’t.  I understand, Thom.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.’

                ‘I really screwed things up this time.’

                ‘It’ll blow over.’

                ‘I don’t think it will.  I’m not sure I want it to.’

                ‘What do you mean?’  Blaine frowned slightly.  Thom dried his eyes on his shirt.

                ‘I don’t love Matthew.  I never have.  I was settling, Blaine.  I promised myself I would never settle.’

Blaine smiled slightly and Thom smiled back. 

                ‘Mind if I crash on your floor tonight?  I don’t have anywhere else to go.’  Thom looked almost shyly at Blaine.  Blaine frowned.

                ‘Of course!  You don’t have to ask you know.’

Thom frowned.

                ‘But…’

                ‘No buts.  You can stay as long as you like.  There’s not much room but it’s better than nothing.’

                ‘Will Kurt mind?’

                ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow but I’m sure he’ll understand, Thom.  Come on – hopefully the rain has eased off a little.  Let’s head back.’

Thom nodded slightly then went to pick up a folder of sheet music from a nearby pew and an umbrella.

                ‘I still can’t believe you’re here – in Edinburgh.’

                ‘I know!  It’s crazy.  Just like old times, yeah?’    

                ‘Yeah.  Just like old times.’


	36. And I die when you mention his name. And I lied; I should have kissed you when we were running in the rain.  What am I darlin'? A whisper in your ear? A piece of your cake? The boy you can fear? Or your biggest mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Cheers, darlin'' by Damian Rice.

                They had returned to Blaine’s via an off-licence.  Thom had bought two bottles of sparkling rosé wine in honour of ‘old friends’ and Blaine had bought a bottle of Captain Morgan’s dark rum, three cartons of pineapple juice and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s _Karamel Sutra Core_ ice-cream.  The rain had not let up so they were pretty soaked despite Thom’s umbrella by the time they finally reached Blaine’s room.  They’d started on the drink and the ice-cream whilst they caught up with the last year of each other’s’ lives, both avoiding talking about the events of that evening.  It was Thom who ‘cracked’ first as he started on the second bottle of wine.

                ‘You know, I’m sorry, Blaine.  I’m such a fuck-up.’

                ‘Hey, what’s that for now?’

                ‘I mean…  Look at you.’

Blaine raised his eyebrow and gave Thom a disbelieving look as he made his way to the tiny freezer in search of more ice-cubes for his drink. 

                ‘You’re you, Blaine.’

                ‘I am aware,’ he laughed.

                ‘No.  I mean.  I mean…you’re _you_.  Looking like you do and smelling like you do and sounding like you do…’

Blaine frowned slightly as he made his way back to sit on the bed next to Thom.

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘Yes, Thom?’

                ‘Could you have loved me you think?’

                ‘Thom, I…’

                ‘I know – you love Kurt.  You’ll always love, Kurt.  But could you and I…do you think?  If things had been different?’

Blaine put down the mug he had been using as a glass on the small bedside table and turned to face Thom gently taking his friend’s mug of wine away from him and placing it next to his own.  He took Thom’s hand then and gently ran his thumb over the back of Thom’s knuckles.

                ‘We’ll never know, Thom.  But this isn’t good, you know?  This isn’t about me, or us.  Not really.  You know that too.’

Thom really was beautiful right then with the first rays of the sunlight stroking his glossy dark hair, his pale cheek.  Thom’s dark eyes drew Blaine’s and in that moment there was nothing, nothing but the beautiful man in front of him.  His eyes traced a path down from Thom’s turbulent eyes, across his cheekbones and down to his soft pink lips.  Blaine licked his own lips subconsciously as his eyes flickered back up to meet Thom’s.  Blaine realised numbly that Thom was crying – not the full heart-wrenching, body-racking sobs of earlier in the cathedral but silent rivulets of pain and anguish and despair.  Blaine closed his eyes and turned away from his friend.

                ‘We’re both drunk and tired and emotional.  I’m going to try to go to sleep now before one of us does something we will regret in the morning.’

                ‘It is morning,’ Thom’s reply was breathy and so quiet.  Blaine sighed and turned back to face his friend.

                ‘I know.  And one of us has work in…’ Blaine checked the time on his wrist watch and grimaced, ‘less than 6 hours.’  Blaine overbalanced slightly as he went to retrieve the two mugs and was stabilised by Thom’s strong hand on his hip.  ‘Thanks.’

                ‘I don’t suppose we could write this off?  Wake up tomorrow and go back to before?’  Thom smiled sadly at Blaine but he did not remove his hand from Blaine’s side.

Blaine’s mouth felt dry and he struggled to swallow.  The warmth of Thom’s hand seeped into him and his stomach reeled.

                ‘That was the plan.’ 

                ‘You’re a good friend, Blaine.’

                ‘No, I’m not.’  He replied as he made his way to drop the mugs into the small metal sink.  He turned on the tap and splashed the tepid water onto his face.  He felt rather than heard Thom move behind him.  Blaine turned slowly to see Thom inches away from him torturing his bottom lip between his teeth.  Blaine huffed out a breath.  ‘Thom, I…’

                ‘Shhhh….’  Thom placed a clumsy finger gently to Blaine’s lips.

                ‘Thom, stop…’  Blaine tried to talk around Thom’s slightly rough finger but Thom’s knotted brow and fractured eyes made Blaine stop.  He raised a slightly shaking hand and placed it on Thom’s shoulder, pushing lightly.

                ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?  None of it matters anymore.’  Thom traced a drip of water with his finger as it clung to Blaine’s chin.  Blaine took a step back into the kitchen work surface.  Thom took a step closer, his body pressed flush to Blaine’s, one leg pressed between Blaine’s.  Blaine could feel the hardness of Thom against his thigh.  Snakes unfurled in Blaine’s stomach as Thom pressed Blaine back against the side, his one hand cupping Blaine’s cheek, the other against the counter pinning him. 

                ‘Kurt.  I can’t.  Thom, stop.  I love Kurt.  I can’t…’  Blaine wasn’t sure whether it was panic or desire or lust or disgust that coursed through his veins like little sparks.  He couldn’t think straight.  He wriggled to try to move out from beneath Thom, but Thom pressed more of his bodyweight against Blaine to still him, dropping his head to Blaine’s shoulder, his lips ghosting at Blaine’s neck.  ‘Please, Thom.’

                ‘Let me love you, Blaine.’

                ‘Thom, please.’  Blaine could hardly get the words out.  He felt himself beginning to respond to Thom physically – he had been semi-hard for most of the evening.  At first he had put it down to the way Thom’s shirt had clung to him when they had first escaped the rain.  Then he had written it off as a side-effect of a physical, attractive body, an emotional evening, and too much alcohol.  Now he was not so sure.  Thom could feel Blaine as well as Blaine could feel Thom.  Thom seemed to take Blaine’s arousal as a green light and began to nibble, suck, and kiss his way up Blaine’s neck to his jaw.  Blaine pushed against Thom pushing him away and backwards.  Thom’s eyes caught Blaine’s registering hurt and confusion.  Blaine screwed his eyes shut tightly and took a calming breath.  Then another.  And another.  There was no sound but the hammering of his heart and his jagged breathing.  It took effort but he eventually opened his eyes.  He sought out Thom’s – he tried to convey his own remorse, his own guilt and pain.  Thom’s eyes dropped his.

                ‘I think we need to sleep this off.’

                ‘I…’

                ‘Not now, Thom.  Not now.’

Thom closed his eyes and nodded slightly. 

                ‘I’ll sleep on the couch, if you still don’t mind if I stay.’  Thom opened his eyes and looked imploringly at Blaine.  Blaine felt a tug in his chest.

                ‘I wouldn’t kick you out, Thom.’

                ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’

                ‘There’s a spare blanket in the chest over there.  Grab one of the pillows from the bed.  I’m going to have a shower then I’m going to sleep.  We won’t talk about this again.  We’ve both had a long and stressful day and too much to drink.  There’s nothing to talk about.’  Blaine grabbed his sleep shorts and a t-shirt from under his pillows, tossed one onto the sofa as he passed it and locked the bathroom door firmly behind him.  He rested his head against the door for a moment then turned the shower on as hot as it would go.  He didn’t allow himself to cry until he felt the scalding water cleansing him. 

When Blaine re-emerged from the bathroom, skin pink and tender, he half expected Thom to have bolted.  Instead he found him sitting cross-legged on the made-up sofa bed.  Thom’s eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks bore tell-tale rivulets of dried tears.  Blaine walked past him towards the sanctuary of the bed but was stopped by a gentle hand grasping for his forearm as he passed.

                ‘I… Blaine, I am so, so sorry.  Just with Matt saying all those things about my past… I can’t get his voice out of my head.’

                ‘Don’t cry, Thom.’  Blaine’s voice was soft as he joined Thom on the sofa.  Thom gingerly rested his head against Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine rested his against the crown of Thom’s head.  ‘You are worth so much more than him.’

                ‘I’m not, Blaine.  I wanted to…’

                ‘But you didn’t.’

                ‘God, I…’  Thom’s body shook with tearless sobs.  Blaine wrapped his arms around his friend and held him.  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Thom eventually stopped.  ‘Blaine?’

Blaine hummed in response not trusting his voice.

                ‘Thank you.’

He gently pressed a kiss to the top of his friend’s head.  Thom pulled back slightly and looked up at Blaine. 

                ‘I love you, Thom.’

                ‘I love you too.’

 

                The weeks passed, show after show blurring into one.  Blaine had begun to feel as if he was living the same day over and over.  The only things that broke the monotony were Kurt and Thom.

Each day that passed was another day closer to the next time Blaine would see Kurt.  Thom had begged Blaine not to tell Kurt about that first evening.  Blaine had stubbornly insisted that he had to. 

                ‘But nothing happened, Blaine!  He’ll just fly off the handle and he’ll never forgive you and I’ll never forgive myself if he leaves you again because of me.’

                ‘If nothing happened, Thom, why would he leave me?’

Thom had shaken his head and glowered at Blaine at that remark.  It was the first and last time they had mentioned that evening.  They hadn’t really spoken about that first awful night since.  Instead they had gingerly overcompensated with each other for days – Thom was the perfect house guest, he cleaned and cooked and asked Blaine how each show went.  Blaine accompanied Thom to his rehearsals on his nights off, helped him with bits of composition and was there for Thom when he collected his things from Matt’s place.  As the weeks passed they began to settle back into simply enjoying each other’s company as they had before.  New, fresher, better, cleaner memories of walks in the city and meals out and walks in the park began to push the events of that terrible evening to the side.

Blaine had quickly told Kurt about Thom staying with him and about Thom’s break-up.  He had honestly intended on telling Kurt everything but Kurt flew off the handle quickly enough over the innocent version that, after he had finally calmed Kurt down, Blaine hadn’t the energy to go into much more detail.  Thom had been grateful for that.  After Blaine had told Kurt that Thom was staying with him until he sorted out his head and found more permanent lodgings Kurt had started calling Blaine more frequently.  Blaine had bitterly pointed the fact out to Kurt, hurt that Kurt did not trust him.  He swore he could feel Kurt’s bitch-glare from London down the phone.  Kurt had refused to return his call for a week after that argument.  Thom had noticed something was off with Blaine and had done everything in his power to cheer him up.  Thom was almost back to his old self again – he smiled freely, the dark shadows in his eyes had vanished with the sunlight.  Blaine was glad to see his friend mending.  He’d learnt since through members of the choir that Thom had been miserable for months before Blaine had arrived. 

                ‘No idea what you’re doing to him, but keep doing it!’

Blaine had grimaced at the subtext of the comment and had reiterated that their relationship was purely platonic.  The last thing he needed was a rumour to somehow get to an already paranoid Kurt.

Instead a rumour got to Blaine.

 

                He was on self-destruct.  He knew it.  He dashed between anger, hurt and betrayal to self-loathing pity and disgust. 

                _How can you even think that Kurt could do something like that?_

_I did._

_Hate to break this to you but he’s not you.  You saw what your admission did to him.  You saw his heart break._

Blaine had gone to call Kurt the second he had heard, but he had instead thrown his phone across the room. 

                _It isn’t true._

_Of course it isn’t.  What do you think calling him to accuse him would do?  He’d take it as admission of your own guilt._

_Once a cheater…_

Blaine balled his fists into his eyes and took a deep breath then reached blindly for the three-quarter empty bottle of dark rum.  He hardly felt it as the alcohol burned his throat. 

                _Stop it._

_Man up._

_Get up._

_You would deserve it.  Payback is a bitch._

He drained the bottle and threw it against the wall.

                _Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck you._

_No…  he didn’t.  Isn’t that the problem?_

Blaine heard himself scream before he was aware he made a noise.  His throat was raw and his eyes burned.

Someone opened the door.  Thom.  He was at Blaine’s side in a heartbeat heedless of the broken glass carpeting his path.  He held Blaine just as Blaine had held him and rocked him, peppering Blaine’s damp curls with kisses.

                ‘How…?’  Blaine managed.

                ‘What is it?’  Thom gently sat Blaine upright and held his shoulders as he searched the dull honey eyes of his friend.

                ‘Kurt.  He fucking…’  Suddenly Blaine was laughing, hysterically. 

                ‘You’re scaring me, Blaine.  What’s wrong?’  Thom shook his friend lightly trying to get him to snap back to him.

                ‘Fucking,’  Blaine made out between fits of painful giggling.  ‘He fucking fucked some guy, didn’t he.’

Thom frowned.

                ‘Blaine, no.  Did he tell you himself?’

                ‘Of course not.  I’m half expecting him to show up here with a bunch of fucking roses and a terrible song.’

                ‘Stop it.  You are being ridiculous.  Who told you?  How do they know?’

                ‘Everyone.  Everyone knows, Thom.  I’m always the last.  Well, except you.  You always know everything before I do.  I’m so gullible.  God.’  The sobs returned then, shaking Blaine to his core. 

Thom slapped him, hard.

                ‘Stop it!’  Blaine’s eyes flicked up to meet Thom’s.  Thom was distraught.  He hadn’t known what else to do.  Blaine was silent and still.  His eyes dark and unreadable.

                ‘You’re right,’ Blaine said eventually.  ‘You’re right.’  Blaine went to stand and Thom helped him up.  Blaine pushed him away then began searching for something.

                ‘What are you looking for?’

                ‘My phone, Thom.’

                ‘Why?’

                ‘Because I’m going to call him and ask him, obviously.’  Blaine threw a look at Thom.  Thom shivered.

                ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now, Blaine.’  Thom approached him as you would a startled deer.

                _No.  A dangerous animal.  Smell that?  That is fear.  He thinks you’ve lost it.  So do I._

                ‘I think it is a marvellous idea.  I’m going to call him and ask him.  No point in getting myself all worked up if it isn’t true is there?  I mean, you’re my friend – you must know what’s good for me.  You are my friend, aren’t you, Thom?’

Blaine’s expression was unreadable.  Thom swallowed. 

It all happened so fast – one second Blaine was bending to pick up his phone, the next he was on his side vomiting and fitting.  Thom’s heart skipped a beat as he rushed to his fallen friend’s side.  He pulled his own phone from his pocket and hurriedly tried to call 999.  He was glad at that moment that he hadn’t had to unlock his phone to dial the emergency services – his hands were shaking too much and all thoughts had fled his shock and fear addled mind.  He’d stroked Blaine’s hair absently with one hand after the fitting had stopped as he waited for the ambulance crew uttering strings of reassuring nonsense to the both of them.

 

                It was midnight when she received the call.  She was glad that it was so late as she broke almost every speed limit to get to the site.  Her heart was hammering in her chest as she drove, she hadn’t been aware that she was shaking until she got back out of the car and tried to walk to the dark office building across the abandoned airfield.  She stumbled twice but made it to her desk.  She logged on and waited.

_So it is true._

She frowned as she looked at the state of the file.  How could it be corrupting again?  She thought her last program had fixed it.  She thought this time it would be OK. 

                _With this rate of degradation…_

She willed herself not to voice the thought.  As if by not thinking it it would not be real.  She moved her hand and almost spilt the coffee that had appeared next to her.  Someone else was there.  Probably the tech that had been monitoring the program.  She silently thanked him and got to work.


	37. Time to think about you and me whatever that was all about.  I got nothing to prove.  I got nothing to say.  No, I guess I never thought you were good for me anyway.  I got nothing to lose... Nothing but you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Nothing But You' by Kim Ferron.

He’s in the changing rooms at McKinley and the air is thick with sweat, musk and chlorine.  It is familiar and comforting.  He is in his Cheerios uniform but it sticks to him uncomfortably with the heat.  It is hard to breathe in here.  He knows the air will be clearer towards the top of the room.  He jumps.  Breaststroke arms.  A kick.  It is like swimming down towards the bottom of a swimming pool in reverse.  He reaches the ceiling, but there is no air.  He cannot breathe.  He must get back down to the bottom.  He tries to keep the growing panic at bay, using the ceiling to kick back down towards the floor.  He is almost there.  His lungs are burning – his cells are screaming for oxygen.  He pulls through the air with his arms, but the floor seems so far away.  He knows he is not going to make it.  His blood is rushing in his ears, his lungs are on fire, his eyes stinging…

He wakes up with a start.  His heart is hammering in his chest, his pulse racing.  He gulps down air.  It was a nightmare.  It was not real.  Gradually his breathing calms and his heart rate begins to return to normal.  He comes to a dim realisation that he is in his room in Edinburgh.  He throws off his bed sheets and is disgusted by how sticky with sweat he feels.  He peels off his tank top and shakily makes his way to the bathroom.  He looks up and jumps out of his skin when warm hands touch his bare skin. 

                ‘Jesus!  Thom - you scared me!’

                ‘Sorry, baby.  You worried me.  I rolled over and you weren’t in bed.  You OK?  Bad dream again?’  Thom steps closer to him and gently runs his hands from his shoulders to the small of his back, pulling them together.

Blaine stumbles backwards away from Thom.  His heart is once again racing, adrenaline surging through his blood.  Thom’s behaviour makes no sense.  The last he remembers he was drinking.  He’d heard that Kurt had hooked up with another man whilst at the London Fashion Week blow out party.  He had been trying to drown his sorrows.  Thom had tried to talk sense into him…  Blaine’s breath hitches.

                _No, even that drunk I wouldn’t…  Thom wouldn’t take advantage like that.  It was a slip of the tongue.  He didn’t mean to call me ‘baby’ and he meant he was on the sofa not in bed with me…He’s just tired and I woke him and he’s confused…_

                ‘Baby, what’s wrong?  Are you OK?’  Thom took a tentative step towards Blaine.

                ‘Don’t call me that!’  Blaine pushes past Thom and out into the room.  He forces the window open and takes three deep breaths – sucking in the cool night air.

                ‘Blaine, you’re scaring me.’  His voice is so quiet Blaine is not sure at first that Thom has actually spoken. 

He focuses instead on the cool air infiltrating the room from the outside.  Outside which is blanketed with snow.  Snow in September?  He turns back to look again at the room.  There are boxes and if he’s packing that means…

                ‘What month is this?’

                ‘January, honey.  What’s going on?’

Blaine suddenly felt cold, numb.  He was shaking.  Thom must have noticed because suddenly he was taking charge.  Strong arms were guiding him back to bed.

                ‘You’ll catch cold and they’ll never forgive me.’

                ‘Who’s they?’

                ‘The production crew…’

                ‘Oh.’

Thom closes the window and returns to the bed making the _scoot over_ gesture.  Blaine complies before he is aware of what he is doing and Thom settles next to him on the bed effectively pinning Blaine between the wall and his body.

 ‘Blaine?’

‘Hm?’

‘Are you OK?’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’

‘Where’s Kurt?’

Blaine does not miss the hurt look flicker across Thom’s features before they are once again masked by concern.  Thom takes a breath and finds Blaine’s hand beneath the blanket.  Gentle fingers stroke Blaine’s hand and it takes everything Blaine has to not flinch, to not pull his hand back.  He needs answers and Thom is his only hope at finding out what is going on.

‘In New York I suppose, maybe Paris.’

The response is not what Blaine was expecting. 

‘You know that is not what I was asking, Thom.’

Thom frowns.

                ‘What is wrong with you?  Was it the nightmare?’

                ‘I don’t know what you are on about.’

                ‘One minute we are fine – we had the most romantic New Years’ date and I thought things were finally settling down and then…  You wake up screaming and now you’re acting all distant again and asking about Kurt.  I mean…what am I supposed to think here?’

                ‘I don’t understand….’

                ‘You don’t understand?!  _I_ don’t understand.  I thought you didn’t want to talk about the whole Kurt thing?’

                ‘Maybe we should?’

Blaine’s response was obviously not the right one as Thom’s frown deepened. 

                ‘You want to talk about it?  Fine.  We’ll talk about it.’  Thom’s voice is tight with emotion and something inside Blaine aches that he is the cause of that pain.  He waits for Thom to continue but Thom seems to be waiting for him.  They sit in silence – it vibrates around them then snaps.  ‘Well?  You wanted to talk – talk!’

                ‘What happened?’  Blaine tries weakly.  He is rewarded by a huff from Thom.

                ‘What happened?  Really?’  Thom rolls from the bed, stalks over to the sink and fills the kettle.  Blaine takes the opportunity to reclaim his bed and attempts to fill in the gaps.  Somehow he went from being in a relationship with Kurt (who may or may not have cheated on him) in late September to being in what seems like a relationship with Thom in early(?) January. 

_Maybe this is a dream inside a dream and I only dreamt that I woke up from the nightmare?_

_You really believe that?_

_No._

Blaine sighs and turns his attention back to Thom as the scent of fresh coffee hits him.  Thom looks tired. 

                ‘I’m sorry, Thom.’  Thom looks up at Blaine and hands him a mug.  ‘Thank you.’  Blaine inhales the bitter, rich aroma and feels the last of the nightmare fog clear his mind.  ‘I guess that nightmare freaked me out more than I thought.  I was really disoriented.’

                ‘What do you mean?’  Thom sits on the opposite end of the bed and eyes Blaine warily.

                ‘I thought it was still that night in September – the one where I thought Kurt had cheated on me and I drank way too much…’  Blaine knows he is pushing now, but he needs to know and this tactic may work.  He waits but Thom makes no sign of speaking or moving.  ‘Everything is still fuzzy.  It’s like I can’t make out what is real and what isn’t…’

                ‘What can I do to help?  What is muddled?  Tell me what you think happened between now and then and I’ll tell you whether you dreamt it or it was real?’

                ‘OK.  Um…’  He knows he has to play this carefully – probably best not to go in all guns blazing.  Something simple first.  ‘It’s January and that means a couple of weeks break then Plymouth soon?’

                ‘Reality.’

                ‘I can fly by swimming breaststroke through the air.’

                ‘Dream.  100% dream.’  Thom laughs, relaxing slightly and Blaine smiles.

                ‘Uh… I play Fiyero in Wicked.’

                ‘Reality.’ 

                ‘You and I…’

                ‘Yes?’  Thom is flirting with him Blaine realises.

                ‘You and I are together?’

                ‘Reality.’  Thom shifts closer to Blaine.

                _One big question answered…_

 _‘_ And we spent Christmas together?’

                ‘Reality.’  Closer again.

‘And New Years?’

‘Reality.’  Closer again.

                ‘And we live together.’

                ‘Reality.’  Thom’s lips are inches from his now.

                ‘Kurt cheated on me in September.’

                ‘Blaine…’  Thom withdraws.

                _Damn.  Too far._

                ‘What?’

                ‘You know it is more complicated than that.’

                ‘I really don’t!’  Blaine drops his head backwards against the wall and closes his eyes in frustration.

                ‘You thought he cheated.  Someone told you he cheated so you got hammered.  You drank everything in the flat and broke your phone then when I tried to talk sense to you you collapsed.  Remember that?’

                ‘Not the collapsing bit…’

                ‘You scared me so badly – I thought…  Anyway, turns out you’d given yourself alcohol poisoning so they had to pump your stomach.’

                ‘Crap.  The show?’  He said jerking up straight.

                ‘The show was fine.  Your understudy took over for a couple of days…until you forced me to let you back on stage, even though you weren’t 100% recovered.  We kept it out of the papers – said you had flu.  Blaine, baby, you’re really worrying me.  You really don’t remember do you?’

Blaine rolled his head back against the wall and shook it slightly.

                ‘OK.  Um… I called Kurt and he freaked out.  He came straight up to see you in the hospital and I don’t know what you guys talked about but I know Kurt was mad at you.  He hadn’t cheated on you, at least not then, and I don’t think he took too kindly to being told _why_ you went all self-destruct.’

                ‘You told him.’

                ‘Blaine, we’ve been through this.’

                ‘But we haven’t because I don’t remember so forgive me if this is all repeats for you but for me I’m just learning how I lost Kurt _again_!’

                ‘Don’t you dare take this out on me!’

                ‘Thom, I’m not.  I’m just confused.’  He closed his eyes and took a calming breath.  ‘Please continue, Thom.’

                ‘He had to go back to London.  You felt awful for ever thinking he could cheat on you and for getting alcohol poisoning and scaring everyone and for letting your personal life affect the show, so you bottled everything up and pretended everything was OK.  But it wasn’t.  And every time you spoke to Kurt on the phone you’d argue – he accused you of transferring your guilt over cheating on him onto him, you told him about how you felt watching him dance with Michael - it was a destructive cycle.  You weren’t sleeping and I didn’t know what to do.’  Thom took a deep breath and looked at Blaine before continuing.  ‘He came up here in late October with a huge bunch of roses and I went out to give you guys some privacy.  I stayed with Rich and Liam…’  Blaine gave Thom a blank look.  ‘…you know, from choir.’  Thom took Blaine’s hand.  ‘You showed up on the doorstep drenched and shaking.  You said he’d told you he couldn’t keep fighting with you.  He couldn’t hold your relationship together against your insecurities any more….’

 

**October**

                The rain is hammering on the fogged windows.  The room is boiling – residual heat from the unseasonal weather they had been having so late in the year.  The roses are beautiful and have filled the sink but their perfume is heady and every breath is cloyingly floral.  His skin feels too tight as he watches Kurt pace.  There’s a lump in his throat that he hasn’t been able to dislodge since Kurt showed up two hours ago to surprise him with roses.  He has no idea how it broke down so quickly again.  Has no idea how to stop it.  Kurt spins to face him tears spilling down his glowing cheeks.

                ‘I can’t do it any more, Blaine.  Every time we talk we end up arguing.  I dread calling you, you know that?  I _hate_ arguing with you.’

                ‘Then don’t!’  Blaine knows he sounds desperate but he needs to stop this before it escalates further.  Before his life derails again.

                ‘I don’t want to!  But every time we talk it comes back down to you not liking that we are living apart and neither of us is willing to give up our jobs, Blaine.  Neither of us should have to!  It’s only a couple more months!’

                ‘It was supposed to be London Fashion _Week_.’  Blaine reaches out and pulls Kurt down to sit beside him.

                ‘I know, baby.  We talked about this!  You said a couple more weeks would be OK!’  Kurt reaches out and puts his hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  Bile rises in Blaine’s mouth and he feels the serpent he has been fighting rise up, uncoiling within him.

                ‘A couple of weeks, Kurt.  Not fucking months!’  Blaine shrugs Kurt off.

                ‘Don’t swear, Blaine, it doesn’t suit you.’

                ‘Don’t fucking patronise me!  You always act like you’re so much better than me – like you’re fucking perfect.’  Blaine stands in frustration, his back to Kurt.

                ‘I don’t think I’m better than you!’

                ‘Yes - yes you do!  Because you are.  Every time we argue it always boils back down to the fact that I fucked up when I was 17.  I ruined what we had and we’ll never get that back.’      

                ‘Stop it, Blaine.  This has nothing to do with then – we’re different people now…’

                ‘People don’t change, Kurt…’ 

                ‘…we’ve both grown up.  Yes, you messed up then but I messed up too.  I wasn’t there for you then, or during your op and I should have been but I was so scared…and when Thom called and said you’d collapsed, God, Blaine – I thought you were going to die and I wasn’t there, again!’

                ‘No, you weren’t there.  You were with Michael in London.’

                ‘For the last time, Blaine, I didn’t sleep with Michael!’  Kurt stands and walks over to Blaine.

                ‘I know.  You told me a hundred times already.’

                ‘You keep bringing it up!’  Kurt straightens up and something makes Blaine reciprocate so that Kurt cannot use their height difference against him.

                ‘What was I supposed to think when you were all over him the first time I met him?  You didn’t even introduce us formally!  All you did the entire time I was with you in London was talk about him!  What was I supposed to think?’

                ‘I’m not going over this again, Blaine.’  Kurt turns and heads for the door.  Blaine panics – he needs Kurt to stay.

                ‘Stop saying my name like that!’

                ‘Like what?’  Kurt spins to face Blaine and part of Blaine is relieved – at least Kurt’s not leaving.

                ‘Like I’m a child!’

                ‘You’re acting like one!’

                ‘Get off your fucking horse, Kurt!’

Kurt slaps him, hard.  The sting in Blaine’s cheek lingers as Kurt steps backwards in shock his hands clenched, knuckles white and pressed to the tight ‘o’ of his mouth in shock.  Blaine’s hands are balled into fists, it had taken every ounce of his self-control to not strike back. 

                ‘Blaine, I’m so sorry!’

                ‘It’s OK.’

                ‘I’m so sorry!’

Blaine steps forwards and Kurt flinches.

                _What did I do to make him so scared of me?_

Blaine pulls Kurt into a hug and breathes him in.  Kurt is tense in his embrace and that hurts him more than the slap.

                ‘I’m so sorry, Kurt.  I just…I hate this.  I hate not being able to see you when we talk, or kiss you, or…’

He is silenced by Kurt’s lips on his.  He kisses back trying to convey everything he feels for this wonderful man in his arms.  Trying to keep him there.

                _It’s not enough – it will never be enough._

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘Hm?’

                ‘We’re going to get through this aren’t we?’

Blaine answers the only way he feels he is able to.  He kisses him again.  Kurt melts into him then stiffens again as if he’s trying to stay in control.

                ‘Why do I feel like you’re leaving me?’

Kurt pulls away but keeps hold of one of Blaine’s hands.

                ‘I think we need a break.  A couple of weeks, until we can be together again.  Treat it like a holiday.’

                ‘A holiday, Kurt, really?’

                ‘I can’t keep doing this, Blaine.  I can’t keep holding us together while you torture yourself as soon as we are apart again.  I can’t do it.  It kills me.  I love you so much.’

                ‘Then don’t do this.’

                ‘I have to.  For me.’

                ‘Kurt…’

                ‘You don’t know what it’s like…’

 

An echo of another argument another lifetime ago -

_‘You don’t know what it’s like to be your boyfriend!’_

 

                ‘Kurt, please, don’t.  It’ll be better this time…’

                ‘Blaine, stop it.  You know it, I know it, it won’t be better.  It’ll be the same.  The same arguments, the same fights.  I can’t…’

                ‘Kurt, don’t do this, please.  I need you.’

                ‘I don’t need this.’

                ‘Kurt, please…’  He’s begging and he’s crying.

                _Pathetic._

‘Blaine, baby.  I love you – it’s not forever…’

                ‘Then why?’

                ‘Because I can’t…I can’t watch you destroy yourself.  Every time, Blaine - every time you tear yourself down and it kills me.  You let your insecurities eat at you, baby.  I can’t watch anymore.  What if next time you get an idea in your head that I’ve cheated or something and you actually kill yourself, Blaine?  How am I supposed to live with that?’

                ‘I wasn’t trying to kill myself!’

                ‘No but you almost did.  You know that alcohol affects you badly.  You knew that!  I have _never_ given you a reason to think I would cheat on you, Blaine.  I…’

                ‘Michael…’

                ‘Michael means nothing to me!  God, Blaine!  I’m not you, OK?!’

Blaine steps backwards – he feels as if he has been shot – he cannot breathe. 

                ‘That was low.’

                ‘Blaine…’

                ‘No, Kurt.  You’re right.  You don’t need this.  You don’t need me and my insecurities.  You don’t need me.’

                ‘Blaine, I didn’t mean that!’

                ‘Yes you did, Kurt.  We’ve been tiptoeing around the edge of this conversation for weeks.  Come on, Kurt.  Out with it.  Out with how you really feel because you staying in London longer feels like you’re avoiding me.  It doesn’t feel very temporary - it feels kind of permanent.’  His voice is low and menacing. 

                ‘OK, Blaine.  You want to talk temporary – what’s going on with you and Thom?  Why is he still living with you?  It’s been _weeks_.’  Kurt’s squared his shoulders again, he’s wearing his _bring it_ face and Blaine cringes inwardly – he never thought he’d be the one to bring that out in Kurt.  But he needs to do this.  He needs them both to stop treading so damn softly around each other.  Everything needs to be out on the table if either of them are going to walk away from this.

                ‘You said you were OK with Thom staying with me.’

                ‘For, like, a week!’

                ‘Fine, I’ll kick him out.  What else?’

                ‘How did we get to this?’  Kurt deflates before him.  Blaine forces himself to stand tall, forces his feet not to move towards Kurt, forces himself not to reach out to comfort him. 

                ‘I don’t know.’  His voice has lost the edge from earlier, but he’s still standing and he is grateful for that for once.

                ‘Why can’t you trust me, Blaine.  That’s what all this is, isn’t it?  Trust?  You don’t trust me and I don’t know why.  I just feel like I lose you and it kills me every time.  When you’re with me, physically, it’s like you’re glowing you’re so full of life, but then when we are apart it is as though something eclipses inside you and you withdraw.’

                ‘I do trust you.’

                ‘Then how could you even consider the idea that I would betray you like that?’

                ‘I don’t know.’

                ‘I think you haven’t forgiven yourself, Blaine.’

                ‘How can I?’

                ‘I don’t know.’

Kurt smiles slightly and takes a step towards Blaine then pulls him into a hug.

                ‘I’m not saying goodbye to you, Blaine.  It’s just a break, OK.  We just need to give each other some time and space.  We’ll be OK.’  He’s not sure who Kurt is trying to reassure – Blaine or himself. 

He feels numb as Kurt kisses his cheek then pulls away, picks up his coat from the sofa and makes his way to the door.

                ‘I love you, Kurt.’

                ‘I love you too.’

                ‘Kurt?’

Something in Blaine’s voice makes Kurt pause as he stands in the open door way.  He turns.

                ‘When will I see you again?’

                ‘I’m still finishing in London in a couple more weeks.  How about I get a hotel nearby and we see how things go?’

Blaine nods slightly, swallowing, his mouth has gone try.  Kurt smiles slightly at him, then turns and closes the door behind him.

The click of the door releases something that was holding him up and he crumples to the floor landing on his knees. 

**January**

                He’s not sure where the memory came from but it is back.  Thom notices something is wrong and stops, a concerned look on his face.

                ‘I’m worried about you – are you sure you’re OK?’

                ‘Not really, no.  I think I’m remembering.  Could you continue?’  Thom frowns but nods slightly.

                ‘I tried help you but you were like a shell.  You were fine on stage.  But off stage…  A couple of weeks passed and then Kurt came back.  He was not OK that I was still living with you – apparently you’d said you’d ask me to move out but you didn’t so that wasn’t a very fun discussion.  Um… he stormed out, back to the hotel he was staying at, I guess.  You followed…’

 

**November**

                The wind was high and it whipped him as he followed Kurt, tearing at him as if trying to stop him with thousands of clawed hands.

                ‘Kurt, stop!’

His lungs ache from running and breathing in the chilled air, he reaches out and manages to grab a handful of Kurt’s navy blue frock coat.  He spins Kurt to face him but he doesn’t expect him to be crying.

                ‘Kurt, what’s wrong?  What is all this about?  I thought the break was supposed to be good for us.  I thought this was supposed to be re-bonding time.  I mean – you’re back now, right?  So we can…’

                ‘I’m going to be sick.’  Kurt wrenches himself away from Blaine and falls against the smooth granite of a building.  He coughs and Blaine wants nothing more than to rub Kurt’s back, to make him feel better, but something in Kurt’s voice had rooted him to the spot.  He recognised it because a couple of years ago it had been him.

                ‘Who…’  He stops himself and takes a breath but it does nothing to stop the sweat coating his palms or the ice in his blood.  ‘Was it…?’

                ‘It wasn’t Michael.’

 

_‘It was Sebastian, wasn't it?’_

_‘No, it…it wasn't Sebastian, but it doesn't… It didn't mean anything.’_

 

Blaine stops breathing.  Kurt turns to face Blaine but doesn’t meet his eyes.

                ‘I…I got very, very drunk…and I don’t remember too much, but I do remember going to his house…’

                ‘I can’t hear this…’  Blaine’s voice comes out quiet and hoarse.  If Kurt heard him he does not react to Blaine having spoken.  It is as if the flood gates have opened and no force of the earth could stop him now.

                ‘…He reminded me of you – same hair, his eyes were chocolate though.  Yours are honey...’

                ‘Kurt, please don’t…’

                ‘…Blaine…I…’  Kurt’s eyes flick up and dance around Blaine’s.  He’s transfixed by the man in front of him and Blaine knows then what it is to feel someone rip out your heat and stomp on it.  He swallows and then engulfs Kurt in a crushing hug.

                ‘Shhhh…’

Kurt collapses in Blaine’s arms, shaking uncontrollably.  Blaine sinks them both to the floor, the strength gone from his legs and unable to keep both of them upright, he rocks Kurt gently.  He’s not sure how long they cling to each other.  He loses whatever feeling he had in his legs at some point – his feet are numb and he cannot feel his face.  He presses his forehead to Kurt’s.

                ‘It’ll be OK, baby.  It’ll be OK.’  Blaine’s not sure whether he’s comforting Kurt or himself but he feels like he has to say something.  Apparently it is the wrong thing because Kurt’s pulling away from him and trying to stand.

                ‘How can you say that?  It’s not OK.  It’ll never be OK!’

                ‘Kurt, stop it.  You made a mistake…  We all make mistakes.’

Kurt laughs at him then – full on hysterical.  Blaine struggles to stand and somehow manages to.  He takes a step towards Kurt ignoring the sudden agony of the pins and needles in his limbs as the blood returns to his limbs.

                   ‘I cheated on you, Blaine.  I let another guy fuck me and you, what?  Forgive me?   And we’re OK just like that?’

Blaine flinches at Kurt’s language but takes another step towards him.

                ‘I love you, Kurt.’

                ‘Why?  Why, Blaine?  I cheated on you, just like you thought I would and it felt great.’

                ‘Kurt, please…’

                ‘It was good, Blaine.  It felt so good.’

                ‘Stop it, Kurt.’  He reaches for the trembling man in front of him and kisses him.  ‘I don’t care.  I don’t care…’

                ‘Why?  You should care.  I betrayed you…’

                ‘I don’t care.’

                ‘Maybe not now.  What about tomorrow?  What about a week from now?  A month?  One day you are going to wake up and hate me, Blaine.  You didn’t trust me before what I did…  How can you ever trust me again?’

                ‘You trust me, right?’

                ‘I tried to, Blaine.  I really did.  But Thom…’

                ‘Thom and I never…’

                ‘The way he looks at you.  You used to look at me like that.’

                ‘I never stopped loving you, Kurt.’ 

                ‘I came here to tell you to your face – you gave me that courtesy I thought I should…’  He takes a shaky breath and steps backwards away from Blaine.  ‘I’m leaving.  I’m done.  We’re done.  There’s no cleaning this up.’

                ‘I don’t believe that.’

                ‘You have to.’

                ‘You don’t get to make that call.’

                ‘Neither do you.  It’s done anyway.’

                ‘What do you mean, Kurt?’

                ‘I called my boss back in the US…  I’m going to Paris.’

                ‘Kurt…’

                ‘I know what distance does to us.  We’ve proven that enough haven’t we?’

                ‘Don’t, Kurt, please…  I love you.’

The look Kurt gives him shatters his already broken heart.

                ‘Don’t do this, Kurt, please.’  He hates how desperate he sounds.

Kurt turns and walks away.  Blaine tries to run after him but instead falls to his knees.

                ‘Kurt!’

 

**January**

‘…you were gone for hours.  When you came back you were really quiet.  Just told me that it was over and that he was leaving.’

Blaine nodded slightly and pressed his hands to his head – he could feel it in the back of his mind – a headache was beginning.  A bad one.

                ‘You were really oddly calm afterwards.  I kept expecting you to break down, for you to drink yourself into oblivion, for me to have to pick you up again.  But you seemed OK.  Resigned almost.’

Blaine massaged his temples as Thom talked.  Thom frowned slightly and motioned for Blaine to turn his back to him.  Blaine raised an eyebrow in question but the stars that have begun to infiltrate and burst behind his vision convince him to follow Thom’s instruction.

                ‘Turn around.  Let me?’

Blaine did as Thom asked.  Thom gently manoeuvred Blaine into position between his legs then gently began to run his hands through Blaine’s hair, massaging his scalp.  A small moan escapes Blaine’s lips before he is conscious he has made a noise.

                ‘Another headache?  Honey, I’m getting worried about you.  Memory loss and headaches.  I think I should take you to the hospital…’

                ‘I’ll be OK, Thom.  I think…the memories are coming back.  Tell me about us, Thom.’

Thom hummed lightly and moved his hands down Blaine’s neck kneading lightly with his fingers.  Blaine listened as Thom talked, loosing himself in his cashmere voice, letting go of the pain and anguish and hurt and disappointment.  Letting go…


	38. It's time to begin, isn't it? I get a little bit bigger, but then I'll admit I'm just the same as I was. Now don't you understand that I'm never changing who I am?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from 'It’s Time' by Imagine Dragons
> 
> Much love to my subscribers, loyal readers and all those who have given kudos. <3

                He loses himself in Thom’s hands.  His headache is all encompassing and he tries to block out the whirring of thoughts as they fight for dominance and his attention.  He needs to stop trying to understand.  He needs to not think about missing memories or nightmares or break-ups or relationships or cheaters.  He needs not to think.

Thom’s fingers are magic – they effortlessly home-in on knots in his muscles, teasing the tension from his body.  He melts.  He focuses on not thinking.  On emptying his mind.  On letting his back-brain deal with the mess his life has become.  On nothingness.

Lips on bare skin.  The press of arousal against his lower back.  Short, hot pants of desire against his neck.  Tongue and teeth grazing his pulse point.  His body responds physically.  He turns his head and their lips come together like magnets.  The kiss is deepened and intense but there’s the wrong amount of pressure, it’s a little too wet and there’s a little too much teeth.  It is wrong.  Everything is wrong.  The hands trailing over his pectorals are too rough and too large.  There is too much stubble it is burning his cheek and chin.  He can feel the panic rising.  He fights it down.  He tries to focus on the nothingness.  He keeps his eyes closed.  Strong hands turn him, pushing him down.  A body presses him into the mattress.  A leg falls between his own.  A nose brushes his.  He keeps his eyes closed.  He focuses on nothingness.  Hands fumble their way over his abdomen, lips and tongue follow.  Warm breath in short pants.  Teeth tug lightly at the waistband of his sleep shorts.  He focuses on nothingness but his hands clench against the bed sheets.  Nimble fingers…

                … _Pianist’s fingers…_    

…tease at his fabric covered cock.  Teeth and lips and tongue taste and tickle and nip.  His hips buck up involuntarily seeking friction.  A nose nuzzles him.  A mouth sucks him through the material.  He moans.  The weight on him shifts.  Lips return to lips.  Tongue strokes tongue.  Moans and pants mingle.  The weight is wrong and it shifts again above him.  The pressure in his head grows.  He fights back a wave of nausea as rough hands…

                … _Pianist’s hands…not His…_

…tug at his shorts.  He lifts his hips in response.  A mouth on his groin sucking his balls gently...

                … _not His…_

 …Fingers kneading his ass cheeks…

                … _not His…_

…A moan…

                … _not His_ …

…A tongue…

                … _not His…_

The dam breaks.

  **Morgan:**  how's it going?

  **me:**  I don’t want to jinx it.

  **Morgan:**  that well?

  **me:**  Oh yes.

  **Morgan:** want to talk about it?

  **me:**  Not really.

  **Morgan:** know what caused it yet?

 **me:**  It is just the one file.  It keeps corrupting.  I managed to restore it from the back-up once and I’ve rewritten the host program. 

 **Morgan:**  but it’s starting again?

 **me:** I have no idea why.

 **Morgan:**   but it’s working now?

 **me:** For now.  But I need to stop it happening again.  I just don’t know how.

 **Morgan:**   I know the project is your baby, but if anyone can fix this it’s you.

 **me:** I wish I could be that confident…

I’m replacing the lost bits.  Hopefully that will be enough. 

I just wish I knew why it keeps happening.

Maybe then I could stop it.

**December 31 st**

                Blaine’s fingers are sticky with honey from the fresh baklava but so is the warm hand in his so he cannot bring himself to care.  Above them the sky fills with smoke and bursts of colour.  Children shriek – laughter and fear; interchangeable.  Blaine’s lips taste like almonds and pistachios and his hair smells like gunpowder.  His arms around him, he rests his head on Blaine’s loose curls and breathes him in.  Blaine rests his head back against the chest of the man behind him.  They watch the rest of the display together through blank eyes – their minds are more focused on sensations - the intertwining of their fingers, the smallest movement of a fingertip as it ghosts across a wrist, the rise and fall of their synchronised breath… 

Blaine shifts slightly, turning around to face him, sliding his arms around the other man’s slim waist, his fingers gently pulling him closer. 

It is so dark and the park is so crowded.  They are one of hundreds of couples wrapped in each other but it feels oddly intimate; as if they are invisible, as if they are alone.  He catches glimpses of his partner’s features with the transient explosions above.  He is smiling.  He catches Blaine staring.

                ‘You are so beautiful.’  His words are swallowed by another firework and the crowd begin the countdown.  Blaine is deaf to them all.  Blind to the sea of glow sticks.  Unable to comprehend anything but the warmth of the beautiful man in his arms. 

                ‘I’m sorry.’

The kiss is perfect.

 

**January**

                He barely remembers packing but the image of Thom’s shocked and hurt expression appears to be burned into his mind.  He cannot clear it or make it go away it remains even when he closes his eyes.

                ‘I’m sorry, Thom.’  He mutters as he walks alone, an overnight bag over his shoulder.  He trusts his feet to take him where he needs to go.

The station is crowded – it is the holiday season after all – and he struggles to find a taxi.  He spends the entire journey refusing to think about what he is doing.  He concentrates on that so hard that he is surprised by the taxi driver shirtily asking him whether he is ever going to pay and get out of his cab.  He manages to stutter out a mumbled apology as he hands over the cash then collects his boarding pass.  He does not allow himself to think about what he is doing until the plane is in the air and by then it is too late.  It is overwhelmingly tempting to buy a bottle of alcohol from the duty-free cart but he stops himself and tries to focus on reading the in-flight magazine.  It is a futile exercise.  Sudoku does not help for long either.  He is saved from his self-induced mental torture by the woman sitting next to him – it is her first flight and she has a panic attack.  Blaine spends the remainder of the flight calming her down, then distracting her until after they have landed.  He did not intend to but he ends up telling her all about Kurt and Thom and how he ended up on a plane about to do perhaps the stupidest thing he has ever done in his admittedly short life.  She reassures him that he is doing the right thing and becomes very involved in his story.  Apparently his life is the perfect distraction if you are not living it.

As he is about to leave the baggage claim for the exit he feels a hand on his shoulder.  She hugs him tightly and slips a piece of paper into his hand with her phone number and address on it.  At least now he has somewhere to stay tonight if it all blows up in his face (‘Not that it will!’ she reassures him).  He somehow manages to find another cab and passes the driver the address he had managed to get out of the secretary.  He spends the journey blindly watching the buildings pass him by – it is easy to allow the street lights to dazzle him as darkness falls. 

He does not panic until he has knocked on the peeling green door and when it happens it as if he has been knocked backwards by an Atlantic wave.  He struggles to remember to breathe.

Footsteps echo and the door opens.

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘Kurt.’

 

**December 24 th**

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘What?’  His muffled reply comes out from under the quilt. 

                ‘Blaine?’

                ‘What?!’

                ‘Get up, Blaine.’

                ‘You can’t make me.’

                ‘Want to bet on that?’

Blaine groans as Thom jumps on top of the bed – somehow he manages not to knee Blaine anywhere delicate in doing so and for that he is greatly appreciative.

                ‘Come on.  I found this place I want to show you.’

                ‘Sleeping.’

                ‘You’ve been “sleeping” for the past month.  Whenever you are not working you are “sleeping”, Blaine.  Get up.’

Thom pokes and prods him through the thick winter weight duvet and Blaine eventually throws the cover off from his head.

                ‘Fine.  Fine.  Quit it!’

Thom acquiesces and allows Blaine to get up.  He watches as his friend pads his way over to the bathroom.

                ‘Wear something warm!  It’s cold out!’

 

                Thom seems to have been driving them for a good 20 minutes – the air is cool but not unpleasant and there is no one on the road. 

                _It is Christmas Eve…_

He idly watches the dark imposing buildings reduce in size and stature and become interspersed with dark towering trees.  Soon there is nothing but countryside and Blaine is suddenly aware of the stars.  There are so many of them - it is easy to forget when you live in a city.  He marvels at how clear the sky is and spends his time attempting to find constellations he recognises – the first he spots is Orion.  Eventually Thom pulls off the main road and down what looks like a dirt track.  Blaine raises an eyebrow and Thom grins.

                ‘If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were taking me out into the middle of nowhere to kill me.’

                ‘Not likely.  You’ve been the perfect roommate – it is almost like you’re already dead.’

Blaine frowns and Thom laughs.

                ‘Where are you taking me?’       

                ‘Patience, Clarice.’  Thom’s accent suits his Hannibal Lector impression and sends a small chill down Blaine’s spine.

                ‘Stop that!’

                ‘Quid pro quo, Clarice.’

                ‘Gah!  That is terrifying.  You definitely missed a calling as a serial killer.’

Thom laughs again as he takes a seemingly invisible turning and heads off-road.  He eventually pulls the car to a stop and turns to face Blaine with a strangely serene expression. 

                ‘Ready?’

Blaine nods slightly then exits the car.  It is as black as pitch with the car’s lights extinguished and he pauses to allow his eyes to adjust to the moonlight.  Meanwhile Thom has retrieved a picnic blanket from the vehicle and gently takes Blaine’s hand in his.  He cannot see his feet, so trusting Thom to know where he is going he allows himself to be lead.  A small tingle makes his way up his spine at the act.  He doesn’t let himself dwell on it.

When they are about midway across the field Thom drops Blaine’s hand and puts the blanket down before taking Blaine’s hand again and gently pulling him down beside him.  They lie in silence looking up at the stars and Blaine feels all the tension of the past months flow from him. 

He cannot remember who breaks the silence first – he suspects it was himself but he is not sure.  Once they start they continue for hours.  There is something about lying in the dark that seems safe and comforting.  Blaine lets go.  Lets go of all his hurt, anger and confusion over Kurt.  Lets go of being bullied at school.  Lets go of disagreements with his parents.  He feels as if he is floating.  He learns more about Thom’s life and his own than he ever knew before.  It is as Blaine imagines confession must feel.

It starts as a low rumble and escalates into a roar.  Blaine realises where they are as the plane flies close enough to read the number on the fuselage over them.  The field is at the end of the runway.

The suddenness of the plane’s arrival and departure does something to Blaine.  He feels as if everything snaps suddenly in to place.  He feels Thom move beside him and knows he is about to kiss him.  Blaine does not turn away.

 

**January**

                He puts his hand out to stop Kurt closing the door on him.

                ‘Kurt, please.  We need to talk.’

The door stops moving and he hears Kurt turn and walk back down the hallway.  Blaine pauses – uncertain whether to enter and follow.

                ‘You coming in or not?’

Kurt sounds tired and Blaine is inside and following Kurt into what appears to be a bedsit before he is aware he has taken a step.

                ‘Why?’  Kurt doesn’t look at him and Blaine suddenly cannot take it anymore.

                ‘Because I love you, Kurt.  I miss you and I can’t stand this mess we are in.’  He does not wait for permission or a response – he walks over and kisses the man he loves.  Kurt melts into him and Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s lower back as Kurt’s drape over his shoulders and around his neck.  They sigh into each other both surrendering.  Kurt’s lips reclaim his almost desperately and numbly Blaine realises how hard the months he can barely remember must have been for Kurt.

                _He cheated on you._

_I didn’t exactly give him reason not to._

_How can you trust him?_

_He trusts me._

_Are you sure about that?_

The fall backwards onto the couch breaks his reverie and his mind.


	39. Oh darling, who needs the rain? Who needs somebody that can feel your pain? Who needs the disappointment, of a telephone call, not I. I'm, tired of love, Yeah, sick of love - I've taken more than enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Who Needs Love?' by Razorlight

                He had spent the whole of the bank holiday Monday helping out his family at their business so she had spent time with her father.  She was looking forward to seeing him in the afternoon – they had spent the weekend with friends over so they had had no time alone together.  He arrived home with a headache and tired feet.  They’d had dinner with her father then headed back to their house to spend some time together.

It has started so well.  He’d been given a new Xbox game for his birthday, and he’d had a long day so he had wanted to play his new game.  But the Xbox memory was full.

                ‘Why don’t you use my account and save on the cloud?’

But he had not wanted to.  He had wanted to use his own profile so he had used the external hard drive.  He did not check that the drive was formatted and played for an hour until the autosave failed.  She had tried to see if there was another way to save but he had been angry and frustrated.  He had unplugged the external hard drive and that had caused the game to exit. 

                ‘Try turning it on again so see if it will let you continue?’

                ‘What’s the point?’

His temper is rising.

                ‘I said to use my Gold account so you could save on the cloud.’

                ‘I want to use my own account.’

                ‘Get Gold then.’

                ‘You said to use the hard drive.  I’ve just wasted an hour!’

‘Don’t be snappy with me – it is only a game.  You can always do that level again.’ 

                ‘You’re using that tone again - where you talk to me like I’m an idiot.’

                ‘I’m not.  Don’t take your frustration out on me.’

She hates confrontation so she goes to leave the room.

                ‘Yes, that’s right – run away.’

                ‘I’m not running away.  I want to go and read.’  _And give you time to calm down and stop being an ass._

She heads up the stairs.

                ‘One day I’ll leave!’

                ‘One day I’ll leave.’

The jingle of keys as he picks up his car keys.  The door opens.  Closes.  The rumble of a diesel engine.

She sits and waits.  Vibrating with nervous energy.  She cannot read.  She cannot think.  This reminds her of a childhood spent listening to her parents row – to her mother threatening to leave.  Spending hours in the car refusing to come back inside on a Christmas Eve where she had to convince her mother to come out of the cold for her younger brother’s sake.  So she cannot argue.  She has to wait.

The door opens and he comes back.  She is paralysed while she waits.

Eventually he climbs the stairs and enters her room.  If she smiles or laughs nervously now it is all over – instead she waves.

                ‘Hi, baby.’

                ‘All I want is a little sympathy sometimes.  For you to care.’

                ‘I’m sorry, baby.  I know it’s annoying for you...’

He sits down next to her and rests his head on her shoulder.

                ‘I don’t get any sympathy from my parents so all I want is for you to understand.’

                ‘I know.  I’m sorry.  I do understand – it is frustrating.’

Silence.

                ‘Where did you go?’

                ‘For a walk to clear my head.’

                ‘I love you.  I hate fighting with you.  I’m not running away.’

                ‘It feels that way though.’

                ‘I love you.’

                ‘I love you.’

 

 

**January**

                He wakes, his legs tangled in the sheets, in a room he does not recognise at first.  He blinks the sleep from his eyes and goes to roll when he realises that he is not alone.  He turns as slowly and as gently as he can – he needs to see that He is real.  That He is really there.  He manages not to wake the man sleeping peacefully beside him and satisfies himself watching the other man sleep – tracing the outline of his jaw, his hair, his eyelashes, his nose with his eyes.  It is an attempt to commit them to memory and to compare the details to the version he keeps stored in his heart, anxiously checking for any changes.  Kurt stirs and Blaine frowns slightly – he would give anything to let him rest, to let him sleep so he remains as peaceful as he does at that moment.  Blue eyes flicker open and Blaine freezes.

                _What if he has changed his mind?  What if he doesn’t want me here?  What if he is angry that I ambushed him?  What if this did not mean to him what it meant to me?  What if…_

His internal train of thought is derailed by Kurt’s smile.

                ‘Good morning, handsome.’  Kurt’s voice is gravely with sleep and goes straight to Blaine’s crotch.  He grins as Kurt pulls him down for a kiss.

                ‘If that’s how they say “Good morning” in France I never want to leave.’

                ‘That’s only the first part…’  Kurt gives him a wicked grin as he hooks one leg over Blaine’s hips drawing him closer.  His lips find Blaine’s neck and he playfully nips him.

                ‘Oh, is that right?  I’m not familiar with these foreign customs of yours.  I think you may have to teach...’ 

Kurt’s mouth on his steals the end of his sentence and Blaine kisses him back, his hands sliding under the covers, claiming Kurt’s naked skin.  They break the kiss and Blaine trails playful nibbles and kisses along Kurt’s jaw as Kurt’s hands find their way down Blaine’s naked sides.  Kurt rocks his hips and their erections brush eliciting a low moan from Blaine as Kurt’s hands trail further down his back.  Blaine’s lips find Kurt’s neck and shoulder and he peppers them with kisses before reclaiming Kurt’s lips with his own.  He trails one hand down to squeeze one of Kurt’s muscled ass cheeks, then drags his fingers between Kurt’s cheeks, one finger skimming his hole.  Kurt whimpers as he kisses Blaine back, his own hands reaching Blaine’s balls.  Kurt runs his fingers around the base of Blaine’s cock, brushing his balls and the inside of his thighs as Blaine’s finger circles his rim.  Kurt presses back against Blaine’s finger as Blaine’s hips jerk forward, his cock straining for friction.  Kurt takes both of their members in his hand and palms them together, his thumb sweeping first over the head of Blaine’s cock and then his own, using their precum to lubricate his hand.  Blaine’s hips buck against Kurt at the sudden sensation and he presses his finger inside Kurt.  Their moans mingle with pants of pleasure as Kurt builds them both up.  Blaine’s lips explore Kurt’s shoulders and neck again before meeting Kurt’s.  Kurt nibbles, sucks and blows on Blaine’s bottom lip, his hand continuing to move them together.  Blaine feels his balls tighten and he bites Kurt’s shoulder as he comes over Kurt’s hand and stomach.  Kurt follows with a muffled cry and they collapse against each other panting. 

Kurt recovers before Blaine and climbs over him as he heads to clean himself up.  Blaine rolls onto his back and stares blindly at the ceiling as his breathing returns to normal and he comes down from his orgasm.  He hears Kurt re-enter and turns his head to see him as Kurt sits beside him on the bed then gently cleans him with a warm flannel. 

                ‘I love you.’

                ‘I love you.’


	40. Free me, leave me - Watch me as I'm going down.  Free me, see me - Look at me, I'm falling and I'm falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Not an Addict' by K’s Choice
> 
> \----
> 
> Apologies for the late update - I'm about to have surgery so there may be a delay in the next one going up. I'm aiming to get the next few chapters written while I'm recovering so I should be back to updating regularly soon (albeit with one arm!). 
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always - love to those who are following this story. Please leave requests (kink or otherwise) in the comments and remember: kudos = love.
> 
> x-X-x
> 
> \----

                His mind is in a whirl; he cannot sleep and he’s barely eaten anything since he got back.  Their last few conversations run unimpeded on the treadmill of his mind – over and over – twisting and mutating.

 

                _‘What are we doing, Blaine?’_

_Blaine presses another kiss to Kurt’s shoulder, feather light._

_‘Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe we are about to make love…’  Kurt shifts and turns around to face Blaine, withdrawing slightly from him.  Something in Kurt’s expression makes Blaine stop.  Blaine frowns and rocks backwards, supported by the headboard.  ‘What’s wrong, Kurt?’_

_‘You can’t stay here forever you know…’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘So…what happens now?’_

_‘What do you mean?’_

_‘You need to go back to Plymouth and I’m here, in Paris, for at least the next four months…’_

_‘…yes.  I know…’_

_‘…Do you?  Do you really, Blaine?  Because I don’t think you’ve thought this through.’_

_‘So, enlighten me, Kurt.  What happens now?’_

_‘You go back and I stay here and we see what happens, I guess.’  Blaine raises his eyebrow and Kurt sighs in frustration.  ‘I mean, four months apart!  We are in no state to lie to ourselves here – we’re a mess.  We’ve not even had a single serious talk about_ us _since you showed up here and every time I try to bring it up you change the subject…’_

_‘…because it doesn’t matter, Kurt…’_

_‘…but it does matter!’_

_‘Why?  Explain to me why we can’t just write off the last couple of months – they didn’t happen!  Tell me that we aren’t soul mates.  Tell me that we don’t belong together.  Tell me that you don’t love me, Kurt.’_

_‘Stop it.’_

_‘You can’t.  Know why?  Because we belong together – you know it, I know it.’_

_‘Blaine, it’s not that simple.’_

_‘Why?  Make it simple.’_

_‘Blaine!’  Kurt throws his hands up in frustration, gets up from the bed and stalks angrily towards the window before turning around to glare at Blaine.  Kurt’s nudity, however, somehow lightens the situation and Blaine has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.  ‘What?  What’s so funny?’_

_‘Nothing.  Look, Kurt…’  Blaine gets up from his position on the bed and makes his way over to Kurt joining him in his nudity.  The fact that Kurt does not move away from him bolsters him and he takes a steadying breath.  ‘Kurt, I love you.  I’ve loved you, and only you, for years and I will love you for many, many more.  I know I’ve not been exactly stable over the last couple of months.  I struggle when we are apart and I’m really not good when I’m by myself.  I tend to dwell and I…look, I worry.  I worry that you’ll find someone better – someone more deserving of you because I’m not, and I don’t...’_

_Kurt’s soft lips on his halt his speech.  The kiss takes his breath away and when Kurt ends it he doesn’t pull away, but instead rests his forehead against Blaine’s._

_‘I love you, Kurt.  Only you.’_

_‘I love you too…’_

_‘Why do I feel like there’s a “but” coming?’_

_‘Blaine, I can’t keep going through this.  I can’t do it anymore.  I just can’t.’_

_‘What are you saying?’_

_Kurt steps backwards away from Blaine, but his hands linger on Blaine’s shoulders then drift to his hips._

_‘I…I don’t know.’_

_‘What do_ you _want, Kurt?  The way I see it there are two options here – One: we give up – I go back to work, you stay here and we leave our lives in the hands of fate, again.  Two: we try again - it’ll be hard, and we will argue and at times it will downright suck, but I think we are worth it.’_

 _‘Three.  There’s a third option: we try another_ _“break” – you go back to work, and I stay here until my contract comes back up for negotiation and then we work out what happens next?’_

_‘Because the “break” option worked so well for us last time, Kurt…’_

_‘I love you, Blaine, but I can’t keep waiting for you to realise that.  I can’t…’_

_‘I love you too.’_

_‘I know.  But you don’t trust me and you don’t trust you.’_

_‘I do trust you.’_

_‘No.  You don’t.  And you probably shouldn’t.’_

_‘Kurt, don’t do this.  Please.  Not again.  I need you.  I love you.’_

_‘Blaine, please listen, baby.’_

_Kurt takes a tentative step towards him and cups Blaine’s stubbled cheek with his palm.  Blaine leans his face into Kurt’s hand.  His mouth feels dry and he’s shaking slightly.  Kurt takes a breath and Blaine’s heart stops beating._

_‘I think we need to trust in fate for a bit.’_

_It comes out like a whisper and Blaine can hardly hear it over the rushing noise in his ears.  He takes a step back and almost stumbles._

_‘No.  I don’t accept that.’_

_‘You have to.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘Because you know I’m right.  Deep down, Blaine, you know I’m right.’_

_Blaine’s shaking his head so hard he cannot see and he makes his way blindly to the bed and starts grabbing his possessions from their scattered locations around the small room, shoving them mercilessly into his bag without a thought.  At some point he realises he is still naked and he rectifies the situation with some dignity remaining intact.  Kurt watches silently as hurricane Blaine surges through his bedsit.  Blaine’s hand is on the door, his bag on his shoulder when he feels a hand tentatively touch his bicep.  He turns and the fire in his eyes is quenched by the tears in Kurt’s._

_‘No, baby.  Don’t cry.  Please don’t cry.’  The bag drops from his shoulder and he takes Kurt in his arms._

_‘Option Two, Blaine, but you have to promise me something.’  Kurt’s voice comes from Blaine’s shoulder._

_‘Anything.’  Blaine’s voice is muffled slightly by his teary smile in Kurt’s hair._

_‘Whenever you start to doubt you, or me, or us – you call me and tell me.  No bottling it up.  No denial.  You pick up your damn phone and you call me and I’ll come to you or you come to me.’_

_‘Deal.’_

_‘Je t’adore.’_

_‘Je t’adore, mon petit oiseau.’_

_‘I’m not a little bird, Blaine.’_

_‘Yes you are.  You’re my little Warbler.’_

_‘You are ridiculous.’_

_‘I know - it’s one of the reasons you love me.’_

_‘Dork.’_

_The kiss is honey and roses and salt.  A promise and a last chance.  They both know it as Kurt strips Blaine of his hastily put together wardrobe.  They both know it as they come together – fire and ice._

Blaine sits up and massages his temples - his headaches had come back full-force since he had returned to England.  His mouth was dry and he felt like a wound had re-opened deep inside of him.  His mind wandered to Thom and he instantly felt sick again.  He glanced at the red LEDs of his alarm clock.  2:15am.  He sighed and switched on the bedside lamp.  He picked up the nearest paperback, hoping that the novel would distract his thoughts enough to give him some respite, but he knew it was hopeless.  After reading the same sentence for the fifteenth time he glanced again at the clock.  2:25am.  He returned the bookmark to its place and put the book back on the table.  He let his head fall back against the cool wall behind him.

_‘I didn’t cheat on you.’_

_Kurt’s admission comes seemingly out of nowhere and Blaine only just about has enough mental capacity post-coitus to raise an eyebrow in confusion._

_‘I know I said I did.  But I didn’t.  Not that it matters because I think I wanted to.  I think I wanted to hurt you, like you hurt me.  I was drunk and angry, and apparently too drunk to actually…you know.’_

_‘Really?  After what we just did you still can’t bring yourself to say the word “sex”.  Fuck, Kurt.’ Blaine laughs – it is in part a nervous response but his exhaustion coupled with the emotional and physical wreck he is at that time amplifies the absurdity of the situation._

_Kurt rolls to face Blaine; the edges of his frown crinkling away with Blaine’s laughter._

_‘You’re not mad?’_

_‘That you didn’t cheat on me, or that you said you did, or that you thought you did, or that you wanted to?’_

_‘All the above?’_

_‘No.  I mean… I don’t know.  I don’t exactly have the right to judge you here, Kurt.’_

_‘I’m not asking you to judge me.’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘I want to know how you feel.’_

_‘That was then, this is now – OK?’_

_‘OK.’_

 

He picks up his phone and flicks through his photos in an attempt to calm himself.  Photos of them together in Paris and in London.  Happy times.  A couple are earlier, of _before_ – two boys in uniforms, young and carefree and utterly in love.  He smiles slightly.  He eventually reaches the video – it’s a new one, Kurt made it without his knowledge when he had been in the shower.  He traces his thumb over the still image before he plays it - Kurt’s hair is a mess and he’s topless and looking utterly wrecked and the knowledge that _he_ was responsible for Kurt’s state sends a happy chill down his spine and a warm feeling right into the pit of his stomach.  He tentatively hits play with his thumb and is rewarded by the sweet sound of Kurt’s voice insulting him.

_‘You’re an idiot, Mr. Anderson, you know that?’_

That line always makes Blaine smile.

_‘You’re an idiot so I’m making you this video for you to play when you’re somewhere where I am not.  So that when you’re feeling low or uncertain or upset you can find this message and press play and I can tell you that it will be OK.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re on Mars and I’m on Venus – I love you, and you love me, and that’s all that really matters, right?  Because, no matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says, they can’t touch us, remember?’_

Kurt pauses there and Blaine knows what he was waiting for.

                ‘I remember, Kurt.’

                _‘Good.  So chin-up, baby.  We’re fighters and we’re going to make it.  One day soon I’ll be by your side again and that next time we’ll make it forever.  This is just one last test.  One last hurdle.  We’re going to make it.  We’re going to be fine._

_I love you, baby.’_

                ‘I love you too.’

                ‘ _You’ll see._ ’

The sound of a door opening causes the video Kurt to pause and glance at the door.  He grins impishly and winks at the camera, then blows a kiss towards his imagined future Blaine.

Blaine places a kiss to Kurt’s image then presses play again.

_‘You have to leave.’_

_‘Good morning to you to.’_

_‘Blaine.  Don’t be like that.  You know what I mean.  Rehearsal’s start in 2 days and you have been AWOL for over a week.  They’re going to think you died – it’s not like you told anyone where you were going.’_

_‘I know.’  He sighs and adjusts the towel wrapped around his hips, his hair dripping down his neck and back.  ‘But you could at least let me dry off before throwing that at me.’_

_‘Sorry.’_

_‘No serious conversations whilst naked, or partially naked, or before caffeine, remember?’_

_Kurt laughs and throws his pillow at Blaine; his towel almost drops as he deflects the fluffy projectile._

_‘You know I’m right though.’_

_‘I know.’  Blaine frowns as he picks up a wide-toothed comb and attempts to untangle his curls so that they will not result in a frizzy mess once dry._

_‘Mousse, Blaine.’_

_He rolls his eyes and searches Kurt’s shelf for the product._

_His mind wanders as he dresses – Kurt is right.  He does have to get back.  He cannot avoid his real life forever, as much as he would like to keep pretending with Kurt in Paris._

_‘I don’t want to leave you.’_

_‘I know.’_

He wakes to find the light still on and his phone mushed against his cheek.  The clock blinks 5:15am at him and he frowns, bleary-eyed.  He rolls over and recoils when his arm collides with a snoring warm body.  He jerks upright and knocks over the glass of water on the table in the process.  The sound of the glass smashing against the wall wakes him up again.  He throws back the covers and begins to breathe again once he realises that he is in fact alone.  He glances at the clock and watches as the digits flick from 5:14 to 5:15am.  He takes deep calming breaths until his heart rate returns to normal. 

 

                ‘ _I’m going to miss you.’_

_‘I’m on the other end of the phone, Blaine.’_

_‘I know.  But it’s not the same.’_

_‘I know.’_

_‘We’ll be OK, won’t we.’_

_‘We will.’_

_They stand there, frozen, hands intertwined._

_‘I love you, Blaine.’_

_‘I love you.’_

_They part eventually when Blaine is called by name for his flight._

_‘You really have to go now, sweetie.’_

_‘I’m scared.’_

_‘It will be OK.  Trust me?’_

_‘I trust you.’_

_‘I trust you.  You need to trust in you, Blaine.’_

_‘I know.’_

_Blaine looks down at their intertwined fingers and Kurt squeezes his hand gently before letting go._

_‘Call me when you get to your new place.’_

_‘I will.’_

_‘I want to know all about it.’_

_Blaine smiles slightly and pulls Kurt to him to give him one last kiss.  He breathes Kurt in as the second_

_‘Final call for Mr. Anderson for EasyJet flight number 6956 to Edinburgh.  Please make your way to gate number B26.  Dernier appel pour Monsieur Anderson pour EasyJet numéro de vol 6956 à Edimbourg.  S'il vous plaît vous rendre à la porte numéro B26.  This is the final boarding call for Mr. Anderson for EasyJet flight number 6956 to Edinburgh.  Please make your way to gate number B26.’_

_is made over the Tannoy system._

_‘Go on – before a bunch of angry Scots and French tourists strangle you for making their flight late.’_

_‘I’m more concerned about the butch gate attendant who keeps glaring at me.’_

_Kurt smiles then gives him a nudge and Blaine picks up his bag, gives Kurt one last longing look then makes his way towards the security check area.  He doesn’t look back._

He drags himself to rehearsal and goes through the motions on the stage allowing his mind to clear and the familiarity of the dialogue, and the escape that the costumes provide, to pull him through.  He adjusts his movements to the new space without conscious thought – time is fluid when he is beneath the heat of the lights.  When he is on the boards everything is mapped out for him – it is all out of his control, all he needs to do is go through to motions and say the lines.

Once the rehearsals end it is a different story – without the structure of being Fiyero his mind is unconstrained and unfocused.  His headaches return and with them nosebleeds with frightening regularity.  Each is worse than the last - the latest does not stop for 2 hours and when it finally abates all he can taste is copper.  He sips at a glass of water, cringing at the taste, breathing carefully through his mouth as his nose is still stuffed with tissue paper.  He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is appalled at sight of his sallow skin, the dark bruise-like circles under his dull eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the limpness of his lifeless curls.  His clothes have begun to hang from his frame – no one has said anything to him directly but he knows they know.  His costumes have been taken in, and the chat in the greenroom is minimal and revolves around easy topics that will not trigger him – the weather, minor changes to the blocking or script, events on vapid reality TV shows, the latest topic on the news, politics…  “Safe” areas. 

Behind his back there are whispers – words are thrown around like ‘unstable’.  Nobody knows what to say.  They glance around the subject, tiptoe around him, treat him as if he is breakable, delicate.  Rooms fall silent when he enters, but he cannot bring himself to care. 

He knows what he has to do – call Kurt.  But that feels like failure.  Like admitting to both Kurt and himself that he cannot cope alone.  That he is needy.  That he is not worthy.  That he is pathetic.

Bile rises in his throat, but this time he only just makes it to the bathroom in time.  He heaves himself up from the floor and rinses his mouth with freezing water from the tap.  He closes his eyes and fights down the second wave of nausea, breathing slowly and regularly in a vain attempt to keep the panic attack from rising up and swallowing him whole.  Shaky fingers reach for his phone and he finds the video.  He presses play.


	41. Without you the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows. Without you the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play. The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly, without you. The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Without You' from the musical Rent
> 
> N.B. Text in bold is from Gregory Maguire’s script for the Wicked musical.
> 
> \----
> 
> Surgery went well and the last chapters are all planned out - there will be 65 in total. 
> 
> As usual, leave any prompts etc. in the comments.
> 
> I'm interested to know what you guys think is going on with Blaine. Sorry for being so mean to him!
> 
> x-X-x

                When Kurt calls Blaine manages to sound positive – he is an actor after all.  He keeps the conversation light when Kurt asks about his work.  Blaine does not lie; he just avoids talking about his health or mental state.  Instead he keeps Kurt talking about Paris, the latest articles and fashion shoots, the food, the sights, the people.  Blaine relaxes to the sound of Kurt’s voice – he has a brief moment of clarity after their phone calls; a flicker of belief that he is ok and that things will get better - that he _can_ do this.  But as the hours pass the flicker dies and the darkness seeps back in. 

He spends every conscious minute that he is not on stage occupied in a strange warped version of the beginning of his senior year at McKinley where he had joined every club he could think of to distract himself.  He goes to advanced dance classes, he goes for runs around the marina; anything that will exhaust him enough to sleep, anything that will stop the voice in the back of his mind.  The headaches do not abate but at least the nosebleeds stop - he takes that as a positive sign.  He takes to keeping a bottle of Neurofen with Codine tablets in his coat pocket and gets surprisingly good at taking them without the need for a glass of water to the extent where numerous members of the cast start to call him ‘House’ behind his back. 

It takes about a month for the one person on the cast Blaine would consider a real friend rather than a colleague, Jodie (who plays Elphaba to his Fiyero), to call him out.  She thankfully waits until it is just the two of them – she’d asked him to stay to go over one of their scenes together after their last show of the day.  He waits for her on the empty stage – pre-set and ready for the next day’s performance - pacing.  She joins him just as he was about to go to look for her in the dressing rooms.  She can see that he is not Blaine immediately – she has spent enough time with Fiyero to know the difference by now.

                ‘Wearing a trench into the floor, Blaine?’ 

She smiles but he notices that it does not quite reach her eyes.  He frowns slightly as she sets her bag down by the edge of the wings and walks towards him. 

               ‘ **Why is it that every time I see you you're causing some sort of commotion?** ’  He launches straight into the dialogue and Jodie immediately knows that talking to him is going to be difficult.  She hesitates for a fraction of a second, deciding whether to actually go through the scene or whether she should tackle him straight-on right now.  She knows he’ll probably just leave if she does not engage with him first so she slips into Elphaba.  Blaine’s shoulders visibly relax as he notices her change in posture.

               ‘ **I don't cause commotions, I am one!** ’ 

               ‘ **That's for sure.’**

               ‘ **So you think I should just keep my mouth shut, is that what you're saying?** ’

               ‘ **No!  What I’m saying -** ’

               ‘ **Do you think I want to be this way? Do you think I want to care this much?** ’  Something in the back of her mind prods her – she’s not certain when Elphaba’s words became her own. 

               ‘ **Look, all I meant was –** ’

               ‘ **Do you think I don’t know how easier my life would be if I didn’t?** ’

               ‘ **Do you ever let anyone else talk?** ’  Blaine does his best to try to balance his delivery against Jodie’s sudden new take on her lines but he does not break character.

               ‘ **Oh, sorry. But can I just say one more thing? You could have walked away back there.** ’  Jodie breaks her blocking slipping back into her own skin easily; she steps towards Blaine and takes his hand maintaining eye contact as she delivers her lines.

               ‘ **So?** ’  Blaine raises his eyebrow but goes with Jodie’s new direction.

               ‘ **So, no matter how shallow and self-absorbed you pretend to be -** ’

               ‘ **Excuse me, there's no pretence here: I happen to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow.** ’

               ‘ **No you're not.  Or you wouldn't be so unhappy**.’  Jodie looks at Blaine sadly and pulls him down to sit by her, their feet swinging from the edge of the stage.  They sit in silence for a moment and Jodie watches as Blaine slowly drops Fiyero.

                ‘We’re not really here to practice are we?’  He sounds so utterly dejected that Jodie is hugging him tightly before she had consciously decided to move.  She feels his body dissolve against her, all strength leaving him.  She holds him up and waits. 

As time passes Blaine becomes more and more aware of how far from silent it is – Jodie’s breath and his own come like waves against the shore, punctuated by the roar of traffic outside.  Eventually he untangles himself from her arms and forces himself to meet her eyes when he feels her take a breath to speak.

                ‘Look, B., we’ve known each other a long time now.’

                ‘We have indeed.’  He smiles slightly.

                ‘So, you going to tell me what’s going on?’

                ‘Noth…’

                ‘You say “nothing” and, boxer or no, I’m going to kick your ass.’

He smiles wryly at her threat then shakes his head slightly.

                ‘I was going to say “nothing you can help with”.’

She raises an eyebrow.

                ‘Look, Jo, I appreciate that you’re concerned about me, but it’s all out of my control.’

                ‘What is?’

                ‘Everything.’

                ‘Pity party for one!’  She calls out to the empty seats before them.  Blaine drops his head at her jest.

                ‘You’re not going to quit are you?’

                ‘You know me well.’  She leans back, making a show of getting herself comfortable.

                ‘Fine.’  He sighs.  ‘Look, after the last show in Edinburgh I went to find Kurt.’

                ‘Your ex-boyfriend, Kurt?’

                ‘Boyfriend.  Yes.’

                ‘But…I mean…I thought you and Thom…’

                ‘Yeah…we were.  It’s complicated.’  He pauses and Jodie makes the “go on” hand gesture.  ‘I kind of freaked out with Thom and ran to Kurt.  He’s my soul mate.  It’s kind of hard to explain but I love him.’

                ‘But he cheated on you.’

                ‘Who told you that?’

                ‘Thom.’

                ‘Ah.  Actually no.  Well, he was going to but he didn’t…’

                ‘It’s complicated, huh?’

                ‘Yeah.’  He smiles ruefully.

                ‘So you went to find Kurt…’  She prompts.

                ‘In Paris.’

                ‘Ah, le bon Paris!  C'est magnifique, non?’

                ‘Mais bien sûr.  It’s beautiful.  I’d never been before.’

                ‘I’m guessing you didn’t do much sightseeing though?’  She winks lewdly at him and he laughs.

                ‘Anyway…’  He draws out the word to change the subject and Jodie smiles.  ‘Anyway, so Paris, Kurt.  Yes.  Um… We fought a lot and talked and decided we would try _us_ one last time.’

                ‘That’s good news then!’

                ‘Yes, but he’s in Paris for at least another 3 months and then who knows where!  I just…’

                ‘B., you’re a physical person, I get it.  You need the cuddles at the end of the day, you need the physicality of your relationship to reassure you that things are real, that everything is going to be OK, that you are not alone.’  Their eyes lock and she grins at his slightly stunned expression.  ‘I’m exactly the same.  When I’m in a relationship and I’m spending time with them – they’re the centre of my world.  As soon as distance is involved I shut down.  I start reading into things – especially text messages and e-mails!  I start to sabotage – I manufacture drama to get attention.  It’s actually really bad.  So I get it, I really do.’  She pauses and takes Blaine’s hand in hers.  ‘But it’s deeper for you isn’t it?  I remember the first time you talked about Kurt – he’d just turned up in London remember? – you couldn’t stop smiling.’

                ‘You thought I was on something if I recall.’

                ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.  I mean, sure it feels real enough at the time, but I don’t think I’ve met _the one_ yet.  You’re lucky you know.’  He frowns at her comment and she laughs lightly.  ‘I know you don’t feel lucky because it’s hard, but doesn’t it make you appreciate him more?’

                ‘I think I know what you mean.’

                ‘So, riddle me this, Romeo – why are you two not properly committed to each other by now?’ 

                ‘I have a ring…’

                ‘Oooooh!  Exciting!  Does he know?  Does he suspect?  When are you planning on asking him?’  Her questions pour forth in an excited babble, interrupting him before he could even finish talking.  He waits patiently for her to stop talking again.

                ‘I have a ring;’ he pauses and looks pointedly at her.  She mimes zipping her mouth closed so he continues.  ‘I’ve had it for years now.  I bought it back in the states.  I asked him after we won Sectionals in my senior year – his dad had been just cleared of having cancer and he had stayed to watch us perform.’

                ‘And he said no?’ 

                ‘He actually never really answered – we got into an argument and then I passed out.  I’d suffered a micro-bleed and had to have brain surgery.  He kind of freaked out when he found out I was sick…’

                ‘He left you didn’t he.’

                ‘Yes.  He went back to New York and I didn’t see him again until he appeared in London.’

                ‘And you forgave him?’

                ‘Yes.  I mean, I was angry for years.  I just… I think with time I thought I had gotten over him, you know.  I’d managed to convince myself that it was just an over-romanticised first love.  Not real.  But seeing him again, I realised that I was wrong.  It was real.  It had always been real.’

                ‘So riddle me this, Romeo, you know he’s the one – you’re both older now, wiser, more steady, right?  So why all the drama?  Why are you still so uncertain?  What are you scared of?’

                ‘I… I don’t know.’

                ‘You love him, yes?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘And you want to spend your whole live loving him?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘Him and no one else?’

                ‘Yes.’

                ‘So, what exactly are you waiting for?’  She smiled sadly at him and he laughed.

                ‘You know life is never that easy, right?’

                ‘I know.  But why not make it that easy?’

They sit together for a while, Blaine mulling over what had just been said.  It is Jodie who breaks the silence.

                ‘So…  Important topic the second to discuss.’

He shoots her a questioning look.

                ‘You aren’t eating.’  It’s a statement and an accusation and Blaine feels panic and anger flare in his chest at her words.  He takes a calming breath.

                ‘I do eat.’

                ‘Really?’  She raises an eyebrow and then leans over to lift his baggy sweatshirt slightly.  He flinches away from her.  ‘What exactly do you eat and when?  Because you’re skin and bones.  Hugging you earlier was like hugging a sack full of sticks.  What’s going on?’

He pulls his knees to his chest self-consciously.

                ‘Come on, B.’  She places a hand on his shoulder and he manages to stop himself from flinching away again.  ‘Talk to me.  What’s going on?’

                ‘I wasn’t lying – I do eat.  I guess I just… sometimes I forget to eat a meal.  It’s no big deal – I just try to keep my mind active during the day so I don’t start thinking bad thoughts, you know?  It’s not bad when we’re at work because I can be Fiyero, but after work then I need the distractions.’

                ‘There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’

                ‘I’m just not that hungry most of the time so I forget.  It’s no big deal.’

                ‘So, what’s the deal with those pills you keep popping?’  Dark brown eyes lock onto fractured hazel.  ‘We’re not leaving until we have this all out, B.’

                ‘They’re just painkillers.’

                ‘Which you eat like candy.’  He rolls his eyes at her and she knows she needs to dig a little deeper.  ‘What are you trying to escape from, B.?  What hurts?  Is it your head?’  She sees his eyes flicker and she knows she is on to something and she immediately wishes she was wrong.  ‘God, B.  You need to get yourself checked out! What if…’

                ‘Look, Jo – I’m fine.  Really.’

                ‘But…’

                ‘No.  Really, drop it.  I’ll try to remember to eat more – I’ll put reminders on my phone or something, I’ll bring a pack lunch and you can watch me eat it, whatever.  OK?’  He breaks eye contact and stands up.  ‘Look, I get that you care.  Thank you.  But I’m really tired and we’ve got another two shows to do tomorrow so I’m going to head home.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Goodnight, Jo.’

                ‘Blaine, please…’

                ‘Night!’  He leaves before she can follow him.

 

For the next couple of weeks he tries to remember to actually eat, but his busy routine tends to exasperate the fact that he usually does not actually have time to eat anything much other than breakfast biscuits and dried fruit snacks.  Jodie glares at him whenever she catches him.

‘That’s not real food, B.!’

But at least he is actually eating something.  Jodie takes to force feeding him whenever they are at work by bringing him a packed lunch and watching him eat it in front of her.  He begrudgingly acquiesces when she threatens to post pictures of his “skinny butt” on Facebook for Kurt to see. 

                ‘I bet he’ll have something to say about this, B.’

It turns out that Jodie is actually a pretty decent cook, and after a couple of weeks she backs off a little, but Blaine ensures he does not take his pain meds in front of her so that he does not trigger a second intervention.

The headaches continue but are soon joined by a second pain - what started as an ache deep in his right side steadily grows worse as the days pass.  At first he ignores it – passing it off as just a bruise, but when it does not fade he tries to relieve it by increasing his dosage of pain killers and using ibuprofen gel but neither work for long.  At night, when the ache becomes a knife in his side, the shakes set in – he’s constantly cold and his appetite leaves him completely.  The thought of food makes him feel sick and instead of buying groceries he turns the heating up in his small apartment and invests in thick warm hoodies.  Not that they make him feel any warmer.  When he finally manages to get some sleep in the early hours of the morning he sleeps fitfully and wakes feeling more exhausted than he did before he fell into bed. 

It is two weeks before Jodie all but forces him to go to the doctors – he tries to argue that he’s fine, but he’s assured that his understudy has already been called by the stage manager.  He gives in under duress uttering assertions that it is just flu and he’ll be fine and that everyone is overreacting.    

That evening he is shivering so violently his teeth are chattering and he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds.  His fevered mind suggests that he should make some food though he is well past the point of feeling hungry.  He makes his way to the kitchenette - all his strength has gone from his legs and he slides to the floor in front of the oven to turn it on.  The warmth that pours from the open oven door blankets him, seeping into his core, and he curls up in front of the oven and drifts off.

It is three days before anyone checks on him.

 

                When he comes to it is slowly and in glimpses – white sheets and white walls, blurred faces shielded by clipboards, the smell of bleach and alcohol, the taste of dry cotton, the rumble of muted voices.  He vaguely recalls someone taking blood, a drip being changed, questions about next of kin, and between this: dreams of staircases at Dalton, kisses that taste like coffee, warm hands, warm skin, and short, hot pants of pleasure. 

Kurt is not there when he finally comes to and for that Blaine feels oddly glad.  However, that all changes when a stern-faced nurse begins to ask him ever more probing questions.  The pain in his side is diminished by careful monitoring of his comfort levels as the hours pass and the administering of pills by the nursing staff.  He gets no real answers from them however, and so waits for the doctor to do his rounds.

The doctor in question (Dr. Whelan) is a tall, jovial Irishman who explains that Blaine had been brought in when a concerned colleague, received no answer to repeated attempts to contact him, and had eventually managed to convince the management company to open Blaine’s apartment.  They had found him nestled in 3 thick blankets in front of the oven, which had been on.  For a moment they had thought he had attempted to gas himself but his friend had managed to convince the ambulance crew that he was ill.  The cultures from his blood samples had indicated Hepatitis C.  Had he been sick recently?

Blaine explained his symptoms and the pain in his side, as well as his medical history - the headaches and nosebleeds.  Dr. Whelan hum’ed and ah’ed as Blaine spoke, his face growing darker as he listened.  The doctor mentioned a raft of tests he was going to order as he was not convinced by the Hepatitis diagnosis given Blaine’s history – there was a strain of Glandular Fever which attacked the liver, for example, however, his main concern were Blaine’s headaches and nosebleeds.  Dr. Whelan then hands him a stack of paperwork to sign.  He does as requested noticing MRI, CT scan and ultrasound consent forms nestled in the pile.  The doctor then replaces the clipboard containing Blaine’s details to the end of his bed and continues on his rounds. 

The tests are all relatively quick – the ultrasound of his liver takes the least amount of time once he is in the room, but waiting in the wheelchair, surrounded by pregnant women feels awkward and makes him more uncomfortable than he would like. 

The MRI is for his brain, he knows that, and is no stranger to them by now.  He knows to keep his head completely still (even though his head is strapped in place the staff still feel the need to tell him not to move) and tries to loose himself in the early baroque music blasting over the headphones that vainly attempt to shield his ears from the general noises of the machine.  At some point the music stops and no one restarts it so he listens to the loud bangs and clicks as the electromagnets are charged and discharged.  He’s not sure how long he has been in there, but eventually they start to form words – _cheesecheesecheesecheesecheese dil-do dil-do dil-do cheesecheesecheesecheese boob boob boob boob boob boob dil-do dil-do dil-do_ – and he begins to seriously question his mental health.

The CT-scan is last, and by far the most surreal - there is an injection of dye (iodine) into his system to enhance the contrast and he _feels_ it as it enters his bloodstream.  The scanner is more open than the MRI machine and as he lies back he has the sensation that he his floating.

He’s unsure how much time is passing – he cannot sleep in the ward, his bed, one of eight, is right by the window to the corridor where the lights are never switched off, and there is an elderly lady opposite who coughs and cries out frequently.  He seems to have been put on a ward that is usually for cancer patients, which does not exactly help his mental state – on the third (?) day the older gentleman two down on his side of the ward disappears between Blaine’s assisted visit to the shower cubicles and his return.  The bed lies empty for a few hours before an overweight lady takes up residence.  This one smiles at him and offers him chocolates and grapes – she has a steady stream of visitors throughout the day, every day and they all bring offerings: food, cards and flowers.  Blaine can tell she pities him.

He eventually manages to convince the nursing staff that he is capable of walking around unaided so he takes little walks and takes his own comfort breaks - one more embarrassment he can now avoid, though it is a pain having to walk his IV drip stand with him.

When he does manage to sleep it is, he suspects, because the one nurse who has taken a shine to him has had a word with the on-duty doctor and had some sleep medication prescribed for him.  He had not noticed at first that there was an extra pill in his evening paper cup as he was not sure what he was taking anyway.  He thanks her the next time he sees the nurse and she winks at him then checks his vitals.

A day or so later Dr. Whelan confirms his theory that the Glandular Fever virus had attacked Blaine’s liver as the cause of both Blaine’s fever and side-pain.  Blaine’s most recent blood tests return clear, and Blaine already feels stronger, though his appetite has still not returned.  The doctor follows the good news with the bad – Blaine’s MRI showed an abnormality – he suspects the nosebleeds to be symptomatic of high blood pressure, this together with the headaches and Blaine’s history, appear to be indicative of an unruptured aneurysm.  A CTA scan is ordered and Blaine is left reeling.

 

                She needs control – control is the reason she does not drink more than one or two alcoholic drinks when out with friends – she will have enough to feel the buzz but no more.  Control is the reason she is so good at designing computer programs.  The lack of control is something she actively avoids at all cost, except this time – this time it is unavoidable.  The specialist had ordered an arthroscopic MRI of her shoulder joint following the x-ray and ultrasound.  The results of all three tests had confirmed the need for surgery to right the two areas of abnormal bone that looked like serrated knives in the x-ray and were lit up on the MRI.  The plan was to go in on three sides and take 6mm from each of the two bones thus removing the ‘hooks’ which were grabbing at and slicing through the muscles and tendons.  All of this she was fine with.  What she was _not_ fine with was that she would have to have a general anaesthetic.  That scared her more than the knowledge that the surgical pain would be horrific and the recovery time would be 6 months, and that she would not have use of her arm for at least a week.  Apparently, she had read, when coming around from a general anaesthetic one was either amorous or violent.  She had never planned on finding out which way she ‘swung’ for want of a better term. 

She was also not greatly happy that her operation had been scheduled for two days into her only planned holiday this year, and so she was about to spend her week-off in misery.  That, and the fact that she was not 100% convinced that the program she had spent the last 5 years of her life working on was actually working properly, were the two reasons she seemed to have a constant headache at the moment.  She had left the office on Friday after being almost thrown out by one of the techs who had insisted they knew what they were doing and would be able to ‘hold the fort’ while she was out – it was only a week after all.

                _Sure – it’s only a week – what could possibly go wrong?_

 

                Kurt calls eventually and is full of apologies for not calling more regularly but Blaine waives away Kurt’s request for forgiveness.  He’s cold to Kurt and he despises himself for it.  The call ends with them both miserable and no mention of Blaine’s present situation.

Blaine had been dreading the call.  He’d thought of nothing else since his last talk with Dr. Whelan – he was going to die and it would be sudden and messy and unpredictable and probably soon.  He could not put Kurt through that.  He’d argued with himself for _hours_ , refused the sleep meds, and eventually decided that cutting everyone off now was the best option.

                _Push everyone away and then no one will get hurt when you go._

_What about mom, dad, and Coop?  I should get the hospital to call them now..._

_Now what?  You’re dying?  Does baby want his mommy?_

_They have a right to know._

_Fine – you are such a worthless whelp.  Call them.  Let them mourn for you while you’re still alive.  Let them suffocate you._

_What about the show?_

_What about the show?  Your understudy was better than you anyway._

Tears prick his eyes and threaten to cascade down his cheeks.  Blaine bites his lip and cries out.  Someone presses the call button and soon a nurse enters the ward – the curtains are drawn around each bed so Blaine does not see who the nurse visits. 

Time passes, he does not know how much, then someone enters through the curtains and stands by his bedside.  He forces himself to look – it is the nice nurse.

                ‘One of the ladies said you’re suffering, Blaine.’

                ‘No…I’m fine.’

                ‘You don’t look fine.’

He tries to put on his most dazzling smile, but this nurse has seen everything and simply hands him a small paper cup with a pill in it then passes him a glass of water. 

                ‘Just take it.  I know you’re brave.  You don’t have to prove anything you know.’

He takes the pill and watches as she leaves again.  He silently thanks the lady two beds down – he knows in his gut that it was her – and lets the dark voice fade away, and slips away with it.               


	42. Cast your mind back to the days when I’d pretend I was OK…  A heart that hurts is a heart that works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Bright Lights' by Placebo

_I don’t love you anymore because…_

_I don’t love you anymore because whenever we fight you turn it around until it is my fault.  You always bring it back to something I said in the “wrong way” and how_ you _feel.  It’s always my fault.  You never say sorry._

_I don’t love you anymore because I don’t feel like you love me.  I feel like you settled and I settled and it was easy._

_I don’t love you anymore because you never touch me the way I need to be touched – like the way I_ need _to touch you.  There’s no passion behind it.  It feels like something you force yourself to do.  It feels like you’re being restrained._

 _I don’t love you anymore because you know I hate arguing but you always want to until I give in or your anger fizzles out.  Then we don’t talk about the_ why _\- why it happened in the first place and how to stop it happening again.  It feels like you don’t want to work at this relationship._

_I don’t love you anymore because you always bring the past up and I can’t change the past.  Why do you think I can?  Or, do you just get off on reminding me how often I disappoint you?_

_I don’t love you anymore because I don’t think I can love._

_I don’t love you anymore because I am going to die and I cannot bear to make you watch that.  Powerless.  The only thing I can do… the only thing I have control over is this… us.  I can make it so that you do not have to watch.  I can make it so the pain is less for you.  I can make it so you won’t feel a thing.  I can make it all stop._

_I cannot let you love me anymore because I won’t put you through losing someone again._

_I don’t love you anymore because I don’t think I ever loved you.  That word is overused and comes too easily.  It does not feel like enough – that word.  It never did.  Like “sorry”._

_I don’t love you anymore because…_

 

                He thought he would have time to prepare before he spoke to Kurt – he had spent most of his waking thoughts turning possible conversations through his mind and fracturing himself as he tried to keep the magnitude of what he was going to do hidden from his heart.  He thought he would have a chance to be the one to initiate contact – he had no intention of mentioning his present location.  The plan was that he would call Kurt and he would break up with him and Kurt would never have to know that Blaine was dying, so Kurt would be safe.  He did not get the chance.

 

                ‘I am fifty shades of so done with you right now.’

Blaine opens his eyes slowly, certain that he has somehow hallucinated that sweet voice – that somehow he brought Kurt with him from his dreams.  But that does not explain the tone of his boyfriend’s voice or how clear it rings piercing through the fog of his pain-numbed and sleep-addled mind.

                ‘Kurt?’

                ‘What the hell, Blaine?  When were you planning on telling me that you’re in hospital?!’

Kurt is shouting now, seemingly uncaring of the fact that, though the privacy curtain is drawn, they are still on a ward with terminally ill people.  Blaine blinks slowly as Kurt snaps clearly into focus and flinches at the volume.  He raises a hand, wincing as the needle of his drip pulls beneath the skin, and tries to gesture for Kurt to quiet down.

                ‘Don’t you dare try to hush me!  I cannot believe you would keep something like this from me, Blaine.  I thought we were past this kind of thing!  You promised me.  When you left France you _promised_ that you would keep me in the loop of your inner turmoil.  What do you think it was like for me to find out _third-hand_ that you were in the hospital and had been for two weeks, Blaine?  Two weeks.  I spoke to you _last week_!  Did it slip your mind?’

                ‘Third-hand?’  As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows completely and utterly that he will lose this argument.  He lost the second he let Kurt back into his life when he bumped into him on the steps in London.  No, actually, it was before then – on the staircase at Dalton. 

Kurt’s face is a mask – all trace of the flush of his anger dissipated with those words.  Blaine shrinks back subconsciously.  He shivers.

                ‘Yes, Blaine.  Third-hand.  I found out from Thom – he called me to find out what was wrong because he had heard from a friend in the orchestra who had heard from Jo that you had been taken sick and were in the hospital.  It was like hearing my Dad tell me he had cancer again, Blaine.  It was like finding out that my mom had passed away.  What in the hell were you thinking?’  Kurt just looks at him and Blaine has no words.  His plans and excuses evaporated the second he heard Kurt’s voice – the second he saw the fear, anger, hurt, pain, concern, _love_ in Kurt’s eyes.  Kurt raises a pale hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He takes a breath, then another.  He looks up and meets Blaine’s eyes.  ‘I know I’m your emergency contact.  Why didn’t you let them call me?’

                ‘I…I guess I didn’t want to worry you.  I thought I just had a bug or something then they started doing all these tests and…’

                ‘Oh, honey.’  Kurt hugs him hard and Blaine feels a knot he did not realise was there shatter.  He struggles to breathe as he lets go and sobs, his tears running in rivulets down his cheeks then merging with Kurt’s into torrential rivers.  ‘I would have come home, honey.  I would have been with you in a couple of hours if you’d only let me know.  I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that by yourself.’

                ‘But you hate hospitals, and I…  Look, Kurt. I can’t put you through this – I can’t be strong for both of us when I have to go through all of this again.  I can’t do it.  I was barely strong enough last time and I only had to be strong for me.  I wanted to protect you.’

                ‘Protect me?  What from?  Loving you?  Being there for you?  We are in this together, Blaine.  I thought that’s what we agreed?  You _never_ have to go through anything alone, ever again.  We’re a team – you and I.  Remember?’

                ‘It’s not the same, Kurt.  This isn’t just a cold that I’ll get over.’

                ‘What do you mean?  All I could get out of the nurses was that you’d had a really bad virus…’ 

Blaine struggles to remember to breathe as he watches the realisation flicker across Kurt’s features.  All he can do now is provide Kurt with facts to stop the _worst case scenarios_ spiralling out of control around Kurt’s mind.

                ‘It’s a bleed, Kurt.’

Kurt’s mouth forms a tight ‘o’ and he withdraws from Blaine with a sharp intake of breath.  The words are weighty and Blaine knows they are echoing around in the gulf between them.  He knows he has to continue but he waits for Kurt’s eyes to meet his again – he does not think he can say this twice and he needs to be sure Kurt is listening.

                ‘It’s an unruptured aneurism.’  Kurt blinks at him.  ‘Um…that means that one of the arteries in my brain has weakened and the blood is kind of trapped there…like a balloon.’  His mouth feels like a ball of cotton wool but he forces himself to clear his throat and continue.  He owes Kurt that much.  ‘They…uh…they are worried it will rupture and it’ll turn into a bleed - a bit like last time, and so they’re going to use a treatment called endovascular coiling.  They’ll take a coil and…’

Kurt goes so pale Blaine thinks he is about to faint.

                ‘Regardless…um…they think it’ll work and I’ll be fine.  Until the next bleed.’  The glare Kurt shoots him makes his bowels feel like ice.  ‘But – oh, the virus thing – the reason I ended up here in the first place.  Uh, that was glandular fever but a kind of localised one that attacked my liver and did not present like regular glandular fever.  The doctor said it was probably because I was not eating right and doing too much – it weakened my immune system.  So…yeah.  That’s cleared up now.  I’ll be a bit lethargic for a while but that’s all gone…’

                ‘How long has this been going on for?’  Kurt’s voice is so quiet Blaine is not entirely certain he actually spoke.

                ‘The virus?’

                ‘All of it.  Since when weren’t you eating?  When did all this come on?  What were the symptoms?’

                ‘Ah.  Well it’s a bit difficult to separate everything out.’

                ‘Try.’

                ‘When I came back I was OK for a bit – you know, work was great and it kept me busy but it’s gotten to the stage where it is the same show every night and I swore I’d never be one of those actors, so…  Well…  When I got back to my place in the evening I was so keenly aware of how empty it was.  I started trying to distract myself – jogging, dance, boxing…  But it didn’t make the ache go away and that’s pathetic, right?  I filled all my time so I couldn’t dwell and brood, but then I wasn’t hungry or tired so I wasn’t sleeping right and then I started getting these headaches and nosebleeds…’

Kurt’s sharp intake of breath makes Blaine roll his eyes.

                ‘I _know_.  But I didn’t want to admit that something could have been wrong.  So I carried on and then there was this pain in my side that kept getting worse and then I was all feverish…then I was here.’

They sit in silence.  Blaine feels Kurt’s eyes sweep over him and Blaine cringes away from his scrutiny.  He knows how terrible he must look. 

                ‘I’ll understand, you know.’  Blaine breaks the silence.

                ‘Understand what?’  Kurt quirks his eyebrow.

                ‘You don’t need this, Kurt.  You’ve already been through so much and…’

                ‘You’re right.  I don’t need this.’  Kurt interrupts him and the part of Blaine that had begun to hope is forced back down beneath the waves of his darker thoughts.  Kurt’s hand reaches for his and he runs his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles softly.  ‘I don’t need you to block me out and I don’t need to find out from your ex that my boyfriend is in the hospital.  I don’t need to come back to the UK to find you like this, Blaine.  I deserve better than that.’

Blaine feels a tear track its way down his cheek silently as he nods his agreement.

                ‘But don’t you ever think for a second I would abandon you.  I made that mistake twice, Blaine – and I am so, so sorry.  This is my fault.  You were scared to open up to me because you were afraid I’d leave you.  You were afraid you would be interrupting me, or that I would see you as weak for needing to talk to me.  You were afraid I’d leave you again if you got sick.  God, Blaine.  I’m so sorry you could ever think that of me.  You are the single most important person in my life – and I know it has never been easy for us, but you have to understand that when I agreed to do this again with you I meant it.  Come hell or high water, Blaine, you are it for me.  I’d never leave you again, baby.’ 

Blaine feels soft lips on his and he tastes the salt of his own tears mingled with Kurt’s.  They hold each other, rocking gently, and alternating between hurried, desperate kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s.  Eventually, Kurt pulls back and studies Blaine’s face then makes to leave. 

                ‘Right, I’m going to go and grab a nurse we’re going to sort out your paperwork as I’m your boyfriend and they are sorely mistaken if they think they can get away with telling me anything other than 100% of the truth when it comes to your medical care.  Next, I’m calling your Mom because your parents are already going to kill you when they find out you’re in hospital and I’m not feeling very suicidal myself.  OK?’

                ‘Please don’t, Kurt.’

                ‘Don’t what?’

                ‘Call Mom.  It’ll just really upset her and Dad and I don’t want them getting on a plane and coming all the way over here.’

                ‘I’m not facing the wrath of your Mom over this, Blaine, and I am _not_ giving your Dad any other reason to dislike me more than he already does.’

                ‘He doesn’t dislike you!’

                ‘He doesn’t exactly like me, either.  And, no changing the subject – Mr.!  Either I call your Mom or you do but it’s happening.’

                ‘How about I call Coop?’

                ‘Fine.’  Kurt leans over and kissed Blaine’s hair.  ‘I’m going to go find that nurse and I’ll get one of those prepay phone card things while I’m gone.  OK?’  Blaine gives what he hopes resembles a smile but Kurt frowns in response.  ‘I’m going to be right back.  I promise.’  Blaine nods slowly but Kurt makes no move to go.

                ‘OK.’  Blaine forces the word out and with it a smile – or the best approximation he can manage.  Kurt nods slightly and then makes his way into the corridor in search of the nurses’ station. 

 

                His head is buzzing.  He tries not to panic.

_He will come back.  He has not left.  He was here.  He will come back.  He has not left.  He was here.  He will come back…_

_I love you.  I love you.  I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic that I've felt brave enough to publish so feedback would be greatly welcome! Sorry for the lack of Glee characters in this chapter - you'll hopefully understand what is happening as the chapters progress. I've written about 35 chapters at the moment and there are about 20 to go. Lots of Glee folk from chapter 3 onwards I promise! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


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